Memories of the Past, Events of the Future
by HenriaSownbinder
Summary: She has been searching for eight years. She has been believing for eight years. He couldn't possibly be dead like her parents believed. He was a survivor and a fighter. He was her lost one. (Warnings: Violence, language and Blood. Maybe sexual content in much later chapters.)
1. Lost One

_**A/N: I'm sorry. This just wouldn't leave my mind. I have a feeling this plot bunny has been done before, a lot. And I have a feeling I won't be getting a lot of reads or reviews, but it was something I needed to do. It has been poking my brain and causing chaos. I am okay with not much publicity. But I will continue this story through the end. So, if you do like it, don't be afraid. It isn't going to just stop in the middle of a fight scene. I can promise you that. I am in love with this story already and I have two chapters done in two hours. So, I do hope you read it and enjoy it.**_

 _ **If it is complete garbage, please don't hesitate to tell me. I put my big girl undies on and I can take it. If you have any criticism, please tell me. I thrive off of suggestions. And if it does suck, can take the hint and I will rethink my concept and try to make it better. I want to grow as a writer. I want to have perfection. It keeps me sane.**_

 _ **So, Happy reading!**_

 _ **Henny, that lucky Penny!**_

* * *

 **Lost One**

A lone figure, a girl, stumbled along the dirt and trees. Her pale features were concentrated and stiff. Behind her, she could hear shouting and a brief look of fright passed through her eyes. It passed as soon it was there, replaced with determination. She would not be caught again. She would not suffer at the hands of others again. She would rather die than be caught by the Roman dogs.

Her stumbling became more noticable the more she rambled through the forest floor. _Why were they so far from their fort? Why were they after her, again?_ She didn't know the answers to her questions. She just knew to keep moving and not stop. She couldn't stop. She had to find the one she lost. She had to find the one who was taken away from her eight years ago. Her parents may have lost hope and accepted his loss, but this girl would not. She believed him to be alive and to be safe. She needed to see for herself.

The shouts became closer. She could hear the thunger of horse hooves. She wished that her own horse had not been killed the night the first group of Roman bastards had captured her and tried to take to her to Gods knows where. She fought and struggled until the one who had bound her lost his grip and she was able to escape. They were surprised at her strength and agility. She was no Roman woman who had been pampered her whole life. She was a Sarmatian tribeswoman who knew the weight of a blade and the twang of a bow.

Her breathing became ragged the more she tried to run. Her legs felt weak and unstable. Her lungs were burning and sweat was running in waves down her back and chest. She knew she wouldn't last long if she continued. But she had to continue. Maybe if she could find a hole or crevice to hide her exhausted body. She could rest and regain her strength. She needed to rest. Her mind knew that she was vulnerable in her current state. But she needed to keep moving.

Her eyes were blinded by beads of sweat as the rolled into them. A faulty swipe to try and clear the moisture and she missed the root jutting out of the soft ground. It caught her ankle and she tumbled foreward, despertately trying to catch her hands on anything that would keep her upright. All she felt was the soft earth on her palms and the leaves coushining her fall. Her tired legs wouldn't obey the commands of her mind. The girl was breathing heavily.

"I've got her over here!" a familiar language filtered into her ears. She didn't speak fluent Latin, but she had been running from Romans long enough to pick up their tongue. Her heart was hammering in her ribcage.

"Tie her up and we will bring her to the Wall!" another voice approached.

The small girl scrambled to bring her heavy body up, but she couldn't get a foot underneath herself. Her legs felt like softened leather and couldn't hold her frame. She desperately needed to get away from the voices.

"Hurry before she escapes!" the second voice commanded.

The girl hadn't heard the hoof beats to signal the arrival of the Romans. She felt rough hands grasp her forarms and then was being lifted as if she weighed nothing. Her sweat soaked black hair was like a curtain in a window. Her vision was blocked as she was forcibly brought up against unforgiving bark. Her cheek felt the sting of breaking flesh as the wood dug into her face. Robes were being tied around her wrists tightly and securely. Fear made her eyes go wide as felt thick arms wrap around her waist and lift her into the air.

"We can sling her across the back of my horse and bring her to the commander." the first voice rumbled in Latin. The lithe girl didn't like that idea.

She began to kick her legs and move her shoulders side to side to wiggle out of the vice-like hold on her body. She grunted and growled to force her body to do her bidding. A grunt of pain could be heard from the Roman who had her in his grasp as her heel made contact with his knee. The Roman faltered a step.

"Subdue her!" she could feel the growl rumble in his chest that was pressed against her back.

Before the girl could think, a fist plowed through her jaw and her world turned black.

* * *

The Roman had to support her limp body fully and preffered it that way. Her struggling had been fierce and powerful.

 _Who was this girl?_

The Romans took in her appearance. Her hair was black as night. Her skin was lightly tanned. The skin on her face was stretched over her cheekbones as a sign of tough traveling. She was dressed in furs and leather. She had scabbers for daggers and a quiver empty of arrows. It had seemed like she was a run away. Not an ounce of fat could be found on her thin frame. Her boots were soft and caked with dirt from so much walking. Her skirts of animal skins were stained with mud and water. Petite hands were dirty from wild living and you could barely make out small, black tattoos between the top two knuckles.

 _Where did she come from?_

The first Roman, Korbin, held his horse steady as the second, Teritus, flopped her unconcious form across the saddle. Korbin mounted his steed and arranged the girl so he could sit comfortably and then fastened her down to prepare her for the journey to Hadrian's Wall. After Teritus mounted his horse, the pair set off.

 _What were they going to do with the girl?_


	2. Now Found

_**A/N: Chapter 2! All in on day. :D**_

 _ **Happy reading!**_

 _ **Henny, that lucky Penny!**_

* * *

 **Now Found**

The first thing that the girl remembered as she lifted from the heavy cloud of unconciousness, was that she was on a horse. The second thing she remembered was that she could hear a lot of voices. All the voices spoke Latin. She could hear birds and mules. Children giggling and shrieking as they played with one another. And so much Latin.

The lithe girl could feel all the bones in her body. Every ache and pain came from deep in her bones. Her body didn't like being laid upon the back of a saddle. Her hair was still acting like a curtain and she couldn't decipher her whereabouts. The soreness in her jaw is what had woken her from unconciousness. To loosen the muscles in her mouth, she repeatedly opened and closed her jaw, trying to work out the stiffness. It kept her occupied as the Roman idiots took their time in getting to their final desination. With her hands tied behind her back, she couldn't move much of her body. That was fine with the girl. She was trying to build her strength for when she could make her escape.

This time, she wouldn't botch it up.

The area smelled like people. She could smell the sweat and waste of humans and animals alike. She hated towns with lots of people. It always stank. It was always dirty and it put too much pressure on the land. Her small tribe rarely grew bigger than seven or eight families. They were a nomandic people. They liked to travel and not be tied down to one area. It kept the enemies at bay. But never the Romans. No, they always managed to find them and collect the boys that were of age.

The girl had to blink those thoughts away. She heard the command for the horse to halt. A smirk spread along her lips. A Sarmatian war horse didn't need voice commands if it was trained right. Simple clicks and whistles were enough. Even applying pressure in the right area could get a horse to stop. Being one with your horse kept you alive longer. A war horse was a precious thing to have. They kept you safe and alerted you to danger that you sometimes couldn't see. She missed her horse very much.

"Let's take her to the meeting room, Teritus." a gruff command came.

"Why don't you call it what it is? It is a Round Table, Korbin." the one named Teritus mocked the other Roman.

"It is unnatural, is what it is." Korbin answered.

The girl felt Teritus grab her forarms again and lift her body as if it was weightless. She waited a until she felt her boots touch the hardened dirt before she twisted from his hold and nimbly evade his quick hands trying to grip her again. She fought against her stiff muscles and encouraged them to keep moving through the tightness. A command from one of the Romans who had brought her in and suddenly she had broad bodies blocking any exit she could set her eyes on. A wave of panic rushed through her system and she frantically glanced around to look for any way of out this.

Before she could work out a plan of action, two sets of hands were gripping her upper arms and she was being dragged away. She, of course, struggled. The girl fought and shouted and kicked. She was drawing a scene in the courtyard in front of the stone fortress. She didn't care. She didn't want to end up rotting in some cell and be made as a Roman plaything. She was not a boy, they couldn't make her fight like they did with her lost one. She was a girl, almost of age, and they could make her do things.

"Let me go, you filthy Roman dogs!" she shouted in her mother tongue. She felt superior in the knowledge that she could insult them and get away with it.

"What did she say?" one of her captures asked the other.

"You bastards are going to rot in whatever Hell you believe in! I'll curse you and your filthy sons!" she ignored them. Her voice echoed off the stone walls as they hauled her down a hall to a set of double doors. The girl began to fight harder. She didn't want to witness the horrors behind those doors.

"Fuck! Hold her steady!" she could hear them panting. She allowed a small smirk to grace her lips before she started shouting again.

"Release me! Get your dirty, Roman hands off of me!" she screamed right before the doors swung open and the two Roman soldiers threw her to floor, grateful at being rid of her.

"And who is this?" someone asked in Latin. The girl growled at the knowledge that she was being presented to a Roman commander.

"Swine! Fucking Roman swine!" she grumbled as she shook off the pain in her shoulder.

The girl, much to everyone's amusement, twisted and rolled, trying to get her body to sit on the floor. Her hands were tied so tightly behind her back, she couldn't move them to assist in her struggle. It took her a few minutes, but she managed, despite the hearty chuckles from all the bastards in the room. The room she still could not see through her hair.

"All of you are yellow bellied bastards!" she hissed, still speaking in her native tongue.

Startled noises could be heard from most in the room. A few confused ones as well. _Did she just speak the Knights' strange language?_ But through all the noises of shock and confusion, the girl just wanted a free hand to get the hair from her face so she could memorize the faces of her wardens. She wanted to memorize them and recognize them. So the day that she figured how to get out of this cyst pool, she could kill them all.

"Lancelot, could you please translate?" a young man asked his right hand Knight. An uncomfortable cough filled the room.

"Well, the first time we heard her, when we didn't believe our ears, she said some highly vulgar words. Are you sure you want me to repeat them?" a new voice spoke in Latin. But how did he understand me? The girl thought as she listened to the happenings around her.

"Carry on." the first voice replied.

"The girl said, 'Swine! Fucking Roman swine!' and the second part was, 'All of you are yellow bellied bastards.'" the second voice translated perfectly. This worried the girl.

"Nothing important. You could have just said that, Lancelot." the young man said with a sigh.

"It amuses me." the man named Lancelot said with a smile in his voice.

The girl had had enough of not know what was going around her. She flicked her partially out of her eyes and was able to see a table with chairs. No one was sitting in the room. Her shouting had put them on guard. She could make out a number of people standing and waiting for a command. A smirk once again found its way onto her face. Trained dogs for Rome.

"Ask her what her name is." the one in charge, it would seem, ordered.

Footsteps could be heard approaching the girl and she started to scramble backwards. A boot in her back prevented her from getting far. And a young man dropped into her field of vision. He had dark curls and dark eyes. They were shining with mirth. A small smile curved his lips. He didn't look too imposing, if you didn't take heed of his weapons. Daggers were lined on his belt. But despite the girl's fear shining in her eyes, he still reached a slow hand to brush her hair out of her face.

"What is your name, girl?" Lancelot asked in their shared tongue. The girl didn't react to someone conversing with her in something other than Latin. She just watched him carefully.

Instead of answering, she pushed spit to the front of her mouth. And before Lancelot knew of her plan, she launched it to his person. The spittle landed on his face and he shot out of her vision quickly. Curses could be heard under his breathe as he wiped the moisture from his face.

She does't know how it happened. She doesn't know when it happened, but suddenly she was being lifted by her hair to her feet. She didn't even hear anyone else move. She felt the tight grip secure in her long black locks. A whimper escaped her lips before she could stop it. It was painful to be moved around by your scalp. And quick as lightening, a hand enclosed around her as if to keep her still as pain radiated from her skull to her neck.

"What is your name, wench?" a snarl in Sarmatian had her eyes widening.

"Tristan!" the leader shouted as a command.

The girl gasped and desperately wished she could see.

"Tristan? Brother?" she whispered in disbelief.

"Brother?" the voice lost the snarl and sounded confused.

The fingers released her hair and cradled her jaw instead of wrapping around her throat. A gentle hand began pushing her hair behind her ear. As her vision cleared, she was met with beady dark eyes. They were familiar. As were the small tattoos on this young man's cheeks. Shock registered behind the steely eyes and then they went blank.

"Gwyndolyn?"


	3. Unvieling

**Unveiling**

A flash of silver and the bindings on Gwyndolyn's wrists were cut. Instead of inspecting the damage that was likely present, she wrapped her arms around Tristan's torso and gripped him as if he would disappear again if she let go. Tentative arms wrapped lightly across her shoulders as the embrace was returned. Gwyndolyn's face buried deeply into her brother's chest as she pulled the smell of leather through her nose. Everyone stilled in shock.

"Thank you, men. You are dismissed." the young leader ordered the Roman soldiers. After quick bows of their heads, they both backed out of the room and closed the doors quietly.

"Gwyn, let me look at you." Tristan whispered in his mother's language.

Gwyn pulled away from her, formally, lost brother and stepped back. Tristan brought up slow hands and gently brushed her hair behind her ears, unobstructing her face for him to inspect. Dark eyes showed recognition and confusion. This was his little Gwyn, but why was she here?

"I think all of us are safe to return to our seats." the commander suggested to those still present. Chairs scrapping on the stone floor and the creaking of leather could be heard. Gwyndolyn flinched at the sounds. Tristan continued with his examination of his sister's state, "Can you explain, Tristan?"

"No." the quiet knight replied in Latin. He turned to his commander, Artorius Castus and fixed him with a blank stare, "This is my sister, Gwyndolyn, but I know naught why she is here, Arthur."

Gwyn had enough of being talked about as if she weren't present. She stepped in front of her brother. This caused Artorius, or Arthur as her brother had called him, to raise an eyebrow in question.

"I came for my brother." she said carefully so she did not stumble over her words. The Latin felt foreign and bitter on her tongue. Tristan didn't even spare her a glance at the use of it. Many eyebrows from the other men in the room rose up in surprise.

An amused sparkle filled the young commander's eyes.

"How?" he inquired.

Gwyn responded with a confused expression. Did he mean how did she get here? Or how was she going to take her brother away?

"How are you going to take your brother away?" Arthur reiterated, sensing the girl didn't have a clear grasp on the language. Gwyndolyn looked back at Tristan. His eyes were devoid of emotion.

"I am not." she replied, her voice small. She shifted uncomfortably. Arthur watched her fidget slightly, "No home. Needed Tristan." a flicker of surprise passed over Tristan's eyes. No home?

"What happened, Gwyn?" Tristan murmured quietly to his sister in the language easier for her.

"Father passed away in his sleep and mother married another man. He hit me one day when I didn't do as I was told and I stabbed him with a table knife. I ran away after that. I had all of father's old weapons, the ones he let you practice with. But I was grabbed by some Romans and not treated well. They took all of the daggers and arrows and bow. They killed my horse in the hopes I would never be able to run away. I learned the little Latin that I know while I was in their hold." she said quickly. Tristan kept a steady gaze on her face. Her eyes were dry and hard. His little sister had had a tough journey.

"My father is dead and she ran away." Tristan explained to Arthur, who had waited patiently for Gwyndolyn to finish her story, "Her horse was killed on the road here and her weapons were stolen. She has no home to go to. The man my mother married hit her, so she stabbed him with a knife." Tristan continued with a shrug. A quiet chuckle was emitted from a large young knight.

"Very well. Get her cleaned up and a change of clothing. Until we can find suitable arrangements for her, she is to stay in your room, Tristan. How old is she?" Arthur started gathering papers that had notes written on them.

"I am seventeen winters past." Gwyndolyn replied before her brother could speak for her. She was standing right here!

"Then you can find work." Arthur said with authority. Gwyndolyn bristled, "Knights, sparring in the pit. Tristan, you can join after she has been made comfortable." Tristan nodded and grasped Gwyn's elbow lightly to guide her from the room.

The trip was quiet and short to Tristan's room. Gwyndolyn took in the route and cemented it to her memory. She wasn't one to need her brother for everything. She was almost a grown woman, she would be able to do things on her own. Finding her own way to her brother's chamber was something she could do on her own. It was not complicated to navigate one's self so long as you remembered the path you took in the first place.

Tristan held the door open for her and she slowly entered the room. It was neat and everything had a place. Gwyn could see their father's sword hanging proudly, waiting to be brought out and ready to spill the enemy's blood. Tristan's battle armor was propped neatly in the corner, waiting to be donned and keep Tristan's body free of wounds. She ran her hand over the armor that was reminiscent of home and she felt proud of her brother. Tristan watched her silently as she looked over his equipment.

"I'll send up hot water. We have a woman who can send up a dress as well. And sandals would be a good idea to have as well, until your boots and skirts can be washed." Tristan murmured. Gwyn nodded her head.

"Where can I find you after I am done?" she asked softly. Tristan chuckled lightly. Trust little Gwyn to not want to be parted.

"Just follow the sounds of boys fighting. You'll stumble upon us eventually." he answered with a light kiss on her hair and left.

Minutes later, a woman appeared with hot water and a dress with sandals. As Gwyn soaked the dirt off her skin and out of her hair, she massaged the aches from her body from her horse ride earlier. A small groan resonated in the back of her throat as the tension eased from her joints. She took special care in scrubbing the dirt off of her identifying tattoos. The ones that marked her as one of her tribe. While she knew she could never go back, she was still proud of her past.

Gwyn stepped out of the water feeling lighter and refreshed. She dried her skin with the soft cloth that was provided. Her long hair was then wrapped in it to seep the moisture from her thick locks. In the folds of the dress were undergarments. Trust quiet Tristan to remember everything. Gwyn had severely missed her brother.

She slipped on the soft underclothing and hunted around her brother's belongings for a scrape of leather. She just needed a strip of leather to use in her hair. When she located a suitable piece, she pulled the soft cloth from her hair and let her ebony tresses fall down in damp tendrils. Using her fingers, she combed the tangles out and then plaited her hair to keep it from her face. After she was finished, she slipped the light blue dress on and fastened the sandals on her feet. While she felt odd about doing it, she left her belt next her brother's armor since she had no weapons of her own anymore.

She cautiously left Tristan's room and did as she was instructed to do. She followed the path they took to get to his room and then followed the path that she had been dragged down. As she entered the bright afternoon sun, she trained her ears for the sounds of boys fighting. Sure enough, she could hear the yelling and the grunting of sparring. So, she made her way towards the sounds. Her pace was slow and calculating. She was memorizing the route again.

When she rounded a corner, she spotted a large group of young men, all hanging off of a wooden fence. The fenced off area was filled with sand and was more like a pin and not a pit. Jeers and shouts were coming from the group. Gwyndolyn slowly stepped up to the fence and peered into the scene that was making all the young men excited.

Two of Arthur's knights were wrestling in the sand, trying to pin one another. How was this training? This was rough play, at best. It made no sense to the young woman. She watched curiously as a blonde knight was trying to flip another knight who had a shaved head. She wondered where Tristan was when a light hand touched between her shoulder blades.

Tristan had found her.

"Are you hungry, little Gwyn?" he asked in Latin. Gwyndolyn surmised that he was going to converse mainly in the Roman tongue so that she could better understand those around her. She wrinkled her nose at the childhood name.

"Aye, quiet Tristan." she replied, her tongue stumbling on the foreign words. Tristan nodded and began leading her towards the main area in town. He was going to get her fed because she looked half starved.

He also couldn't wait to hear the full tale of how his sister fell into his lap at Hadrian's Wall.


	4. Introduction

_**A/N: Thank you to those who have decided to follow my little story. I know it is not perfect in any way, but I am enjoying my time writing it. The headache it has produced has ebbed, so that I am grateful for. I am also grateful to anyone who reads this because at least some are recognizing my work, even if you don't leave a review. I just take comfort in the knowledge that you are reading it. It makes my day brighter.**_

 _ **Without further ado, here is chapter 4.**_

 _ **Happy reading!**_

 _ **Henny, that lucky Penny!**_

* * *

 **Introduction**

"He didn't like that I wasn't married. He said I was getting too old and that I wouldn't make any man happy if I married old!" Gwyndolyn was talking very fast, almost like she wanted her brother to believe her, "He told me to find a nice dress and sit outside and wait for a man to snatch me up. I was twelve!" she nearly shouted. Tristan flinched at the volume.

"You are twelve, or you were twelve? Because you are Tristan's baby sister, we wouldn't want to get comfused." a smooth voice came behind the pair. Gwyndolyn gripped the dagger that Tristan had leant her in a white knuckle grasp. Tristan smirked at his sister.

"You were in the room when I told Arthur my age." she muttered, her voice still not confident in Latin.

"And how did you get to be here, at Hadrian's Wall, fair lady?" the flirtatious knight sat beside Gwyndolyn. Her back tensed. So much time had been spent alone and she was very bothered by the presence of others.

"Walking." she mumbled around a bite of potatoes. Tristan observed the pair talking. Her Latin was not bad for being self taught.

"Leave her be, Lancelot. She is trying to eat." a tall redish blonde young man tried to reign in his brother in arms. Gwyndolyn looked to Tristan who sighed. She was lost without names.

"Gawain. Galahad. Lancelot. Bors. Dagonet. Gheris. Gareth." he murmured to her while pointing to each man in turn, "Bradon. Kieran. Athdar. And Phelan." Tristan completed the group around the table. Gwyn had taken her time in studying faces. She was good at remembering names and faces, "This is Gwyndolyn."

Murmurs of greetings sounded around the table. Gwyn offered small polite smiles in return. Soon, the knights were being served their own meals. Ale was being passed around joyfully. The noise set Gwyn on edge. Tristan, normally one for quiet himself, sat comfortably in the background as his brothers celebrated being alive. They toasted those who had fallen recently and asked the Gods to keep them safe. Gwyn observed the happenings around the tavern.

A young woman, a dark red head, had a small one in a sling and two bigger ones nipping at her heels, was serving Romans and the knights. She looked completely comfortable working around two little ones at her feet. The knight named Bors would look on the swaddled babe every time the woman passed their table. She would let a small, secret smile float across her features at the small gesture. Gwyn surmised that those were Bors' children and that the red haired woman was his lover. She bore no significant markings that claimed she were married to the knight.

"Vanora." Tristan murmured after he caught Gwyndolyn following Vanora with her eyes, "You should ask her if she knows about any work needing to be done around the fort." Gwyn yawned loudly as the food settled in her gut. That was the warmest and largest meal she had consumed since she left home.

"Tomorrow." she murmured with half lidded eyes. Tristan nodded in understanding and rose from his seat.

"Good night, brothers." Tristan said over their excited talking. A few mumbled their responses and some waved at him. Gwyn hardly noticed.

The pair ambled slowly through the streets. Tristan kept his eyes moving and searching. His honed eyesight giving him access to the shadows. Gwyn had a hand on his arm to steady her uneasy footing. Tristan almost felt sorry for her, but remembering all those long days that had all of them walking for hours on end, he knew that she would be all right. She was bred and raised to endure physical stress. She was only tired because of all the excitement.

He held the door to his room open for his sister and closed it quietly. Gwyn looked around uncertainly and Tristan knew that she didn't have any gown for sleeping. He crossed the room to his trunk and pulled out a tunic. He handed it silently to her and busied himself with pulling the blanket down so they could crawl under it. He could hear her wrestling with the Roman dress and smirked to himself.

"Tris, are you happy here?" her soft voice broke the comfortable silence. Her exhausted mind had started thinking in Sarmatian again. Tristan set about taking off his boots.

"For the most part. It could be better." he replied as he tugged at his laces.

"The men appear to enjoy their time here." she commented as she sat down beside him on the bed. Tristan shrugged his shoulders slightly.

"We can't leave. We know that. So, we make do with what we are offered." he explained as he shrugged off his tunic. Tristan opted to leave his breeches on.

"I'm sorry." she said softly as she lined her sandals next to his boots. Tristan glanced over to her and saw Gwyn crying softly.

"If I remember correctly, you never took to being ordered about. That was father's most treasured feature about you." he stated quietly as he wiped a tear from her cheek, "You were his little stubborn girl. I am sorry that I was not there to become the man of the house to protect you, little Gwyn, and mother." a quiet hiccup sounded from the small girl as she shook her head.

"You couldn't help it. None of you could deny the Romans." she whispered as she crawled to the edge of the bed next to the wall.

"I am still sorry." he reiterated as he laid next to Gwyn and pulled the covers over them, "Sleep now. That is the only reason why you are crying. I never remember you to shed tears over things that could not be helped."

"Good night, quiet Tristan." she murmured, already half asleep.

"Good night, little Gwyn." Tristan murmured as he rolled over and kissed the top of her braid.

* * *

The next morning, Gwyndolyn woke well after sunrise. She stretched her limbs and let a small smile pull at her lips at how loose they felt. The combined hot bath and soft bed had healed her achy muscles from her terrible horse ride. She looked to Tristan's side and saw an apple perched on the pillow. Of course he would need to awake early. He had important knightly duties to attend to.

Gwyndolyn nibbled on the apple as she inspected her skirts that she had been wearing when she arrived. She found that they had been cleaned and dried. The leather mid-length breeches she wore under them had also been scrubbed of dirt. Her leather vest was washed and oiled the day before. But her boots were still caked with dirt. A little frown crinkled her petite features. She could tell they had tried to scrub the dirt, but only managed to clear a quarter of the soil. Did no one know how to clean boots at this fort?

Gwyn finished her breakfast and detached the animal furs from her long skirt of leather. It was much too hot at the fort to be wearing her cold weather furs. Gwyn donned her short breeches and then her vest. She attached a small dagger to the inside of her thigh before wrapping the soft skirt around her hips. After strapping the sandals on her feet, Gwyn snatched her boots from the floor and left Tristan's room.

Her first oder of business was to get her boots cleaned so Gwyn could wear them instead of the stiff sandals. To accomplish this, she had to make her way outside. So she manuevered herself through the halls of the fort and greeted the sun with blinking eyes. After taking a breathe of warm air, she set to work of finding a stone with a sharp edge.

When Gwyn located one, she found the nearest piece of wall and started to firmly hit the toes of her boots against the stone. Clouds of dust formed as she pounded the loose soil from her boots. When no more clouds appeared, she found the shade of a tree to sit on the ground and used the stone she located with the sharp edge and began scrapping the hardened earth from the leather.

Due to the pounding earlier, the dried mud came off fairly easily. It took Gwyn less time than she had predicted. She inspected her work and found she was satisfied with it. Gwyn rose from her patch of earth and dusted the flecks of dried mud off her skirt. Completing the task, Gwyn made her way back to Tristan's room to change into her boots.

Ridding herself of the awful sandals, Gwyn stood in the room and wiggled her toes. She loved the feel of her boots on her feet. They were comfortable and soft. A smirk graced her lips as she untied the plait from her hair. Her black tresses fell down her back in waves as she shook her hair loose. Gwyn combed her fingers through her hair quickly and then set out to complete her second task of the day; talking to Miss Vanora about where to work.


	5. Over-Bearing Brothers

**Over-Bearing Brothers**

The red haired woman, Vanora, was working behind the counter of the tavern. She still had the baby in a sling at her breast. Her older children could be heard wrestling in the back. Gwyn could hear her humming a tune under breathe as she worked. It was melodic and soothing. Gwyn was reminded of her mother humming something similar when she would put a much younger Gwyn to bed. It brought a painful twinge to her chest.

"Miss Vanora?" Gwyn asked quietly. The woman started a little, but quickly recovered and curved her lips into a kind smile.

"Ah, you must be the little lost sister of Tristan. Bors told me about how you came into the fort kicking and screaming." Gwyn's cheeks colored pink.

"I am Gwyndolyn. Tristan told me to come ask you a question." the Latin was still bitter on her palatte and her tongue tended to fumble over the words.

"It is my pleasure to meet you, Gwyndolyn. How may I be of service?" Vanora inquired as she turned back to her task behind the counter. Gwyn peered curiously over to watch her wiping out mugs with a rag.

"Do you know of any work?" she asked as she continued to watch Vanora complete the task. A gurgling noise came from the baby in the sling and Vanora began to bounce on the balls of her feet softly and sway her hips.

"Do you know how to cook?" Vanora asked completely unaware of her natural response to soothing her child.

"My mother had me watch her make all the family meals. I also had to cook rabbits and squirrels while I was traveling." Gwyn answered. Vanora smiled brightly as she met with the dark brown eyes.

"I am in need of a cook. I cannot keep up with the appetite of knights and soldiers. Would you want to be my cook? I can pay you two bronze a week and two meals a day." Vanora offered with her eyes bright with hope. Gwyn didn't want to disappoint the burdened woman. It also helped that Gwyn would be away from most of the noise of the tavern when it was full of men and women drinking their bellies full.

"I can manage that." Gwyn responded with a nod. Vanora nodded her head and took a peek at her swaddled babe, "When do you want me to begin?"

"On the morrow. Will you me able to come over before sunrise?" the red headed woman had that hopeful look in her dark blue eyes. Gwyn nodded and let a small smile form on her lips.

"Yes. I will see you early." and Gwyn turned to wander back to knight's dwellings. She felt like she was accomplishing much today.

The sun was high in the sky and beating down on Gwyndolyn's skin. For all the time that Gwyn had spent on the island, she knows that these types of days were rare and few between. Britannia liked to rain and snow. It was not a dry piece of land. Gwyn knew to soak up the sun as much as she could to keep her body warm. Her ebony hair was soaking in the heat as well. Her wavey tresses fluttered lightly in the soft breeze. It was a perfect day.

As she neared the stone building where the knights slept, she could hear the sounds of mock fighting. Gwyn wondered what kind of training the men were doing today. She walked the path she memorised the day before. Gwyn stepped around the side of the armory and saw the same group of young men around a larger pit. This one was filled with wood chips and a higher fence made with thicker logs.

Being smaller, Gwyndolyn had to climb the logs and peer over the top of the fence. She was met with the dark hair of her brother and the curly hair of Lancelot. They were dueling with blunt swords. Lancelot had two and her brother opted for a longer thinner blade. It very loosely resembled their father's sword, but its weight was off centered and she could see that Tristan was growing agitated at the useless weapon.

The pair looked like they were dancing. Tristan moved his feet lightly and only when necessary. Lancelot was quick and balanced. Gwyn studied their techniques closely. Hisses and grunts of pain could be heard when dull edges left bruises instead of cuts. Deadend tings came from the lesser weapons. While the swords were not well made, their masters put them to good use. It sent a thrill through Gwyn to see the mock fighting.

"Careful, lass." the knight Bors warned. Gwyn jumped slightly and turned to him. She was confused and it showed in her features, "Tris has been known to use the logs to trap weapons so he can kick his opponents until they yield." Gwyn looked down at her hands and understood why he was warning her.

"I swear to move out of the way. Although, Tristan would not use that tactic against Lancelot." Gwyn replied as she turned back to the duel, "Lancelot has two blades. If he were a fool, then Lancelot would attack with them side by side. I am going to gather that he is not and never lets his weapons get close. If Tristan were to trap one sword, there would still be another to spill his innards." she explained as Tristan began to attack faster and harder.

"Dag, listen to this one!" Bors whispered gruffly to his friend. Dagonet looked over to the small girl, "She thinks she knows what Tristan is going to do." Dagonet narrowed his eyes slightly in thought.

"I do not think; I do know." Gwyndolyn interjected irriated, "He is wasting Lancelot's energy and when he sees him grow weak enough, he will knock both swords from his grasp and mime slitting his throat."

"I can't wait to see this with my own eyes." Bors said doubtfully. Gwyn shrugged her shoulders and Dagonet watched her for a moment more. He saw her concentrating on the battle and carefully watching the steps the two young men were taking. He turned back and realized that Gwyndolyn was right.

Lancelot was beginning to tire. Sweat was beading at his hairline. His breathing was labored and his swings were going wider and slower. Dagonet saw Tristan plant his foot and swing his dulled blade powerfully. The twin blades that were in Lancelot's hands were knocked across the pen and Tristan mimed slicing Lancelot's throat. Bors turned to Dagonet with his mouth open.

"Careful, Bors. You'll catch flies if you leave your jaw open like that." Dagonet whispered to his friend. Bors blinked his eyes in disbelief and snapped his jaw shut.

"It's Tristan! Only in the form of a girl!" he whispered harshly to Dagonet. The taller knight just scoffed and turned to Gwyn.

"I apologize for my fellow knight's behavior. He is well aware that you can hear him, but he is not used to women knowing how to use a blade." he softly said to the brown eyed girl. They shimmered with mirth.

"I understand." she stifled a giggle.

"What do you understand?" Tristan's gruff voice interrupted the conversing trio. Gwyndolyn flashed him a bright smile.

"I found work at the tavern!" she told Tristan brightly while ignoring his question. His expression went dark.

"No." he stated firmly. Gwyndolyn only smirked at her brother.

"Do you not trust my cooking?" she asked with amusement laced in her words.

"You are to cook for Vanora?" Tristan wiped the dark look off his face and replaced it with a blank stare.

"Yes. I start before dawn." she squared her shoulders proudly. Tristan gave her a small smile.

"Now, what do you understand?" he asked again. Tristan vaulted over the top of the fence and landed lightly before leaning against the logs in a seemingly relaxed pose.

"Gwyn was able to tell Dags and I how you were going to defeat Lancelot! Before you did it!" Bors answered the quiet knight with a bewildered tone. Tristan smirked and pieced together that Gwyn had shocked the burly knights.

"Surprised women know how to handle blades, Bors?" Tristan teased the other man as he pulled an apple out from under his tunic. Dagonet lifted his eyebrows in surprised. The serious knight had never been one to tease them!

Tristan looked at Gwyn expectantly and she rolled her eyes. Bors and Dagonet watched the exchange curiously. They raised their eyebrows as the girl slipped her hand between the part in her skirt and extracted a small dagger. She tossed it lightly, hilt first, into the waiting hand of her brother. The two burly knights glanced at each other in wonder and amazement. She was just like Tristan only in girl form.

The dark man sliced the apple in half and tossed one part to his sister and began cutting pieces to nibble on for himself. Gwyndolyn turned back to the ring and bit into the apple half. She wanted to watch more duels and study the different techniques of the other knights. Their footwork fascinated her and occupied her sharp eyes.

"Ah, Tristan! There you are." the young commander's voice interrupted Gwyn's spectating. She ignored him and continued eating her apple and observing the duel between Gawain and Bradon, both using small axes with blunt edges.

"Arthur." Tristan greeted his leader.

"I see that your sister has taken to watching the men train." he commented after a glance at Gwyn's form hanging from the fence, "Should she be so close to the edge? Wayward blades have been known to come across the top." he voiced the same concern as Bors and Dagonet. Gwyn rolled her eyes, but did not turn around. Tristan shrugged his shoulders.

"She'll move if that were to happen." he said with an air of unconcern.

"Of course." the man said with doubt clouding his tone, "How is she fairing?"

Gwyndolyn had had enough of being talked about as if she were not present. She hopped down from her log and faced the commander. Gwyn's eyes were narrowed in frustration, but she kept her face calm.

"I found work at the tavern. Miss Vanora was in need of a cook, so I agreed to her terms, sir." she said politely, although her patience was running thin. Tristan raised his eyebrow slightly.

"Very well. How are the sleeping arrangements?" Arthur inquired, seemingly unperturbed by the forwardness of the young girl.

"They are...well. I thank you for your...hospitality." Gwyn replied slowly. The new words felt garbled in her mouth. She bowed her head respectfully. Arthur's eyes widened at her show of respect. He didn't expect it as her attitude had portrayed her as unrelenting. He expected trouble from the small girl, but found that she was just as controled as her brother.

"No thanks needed. I am happy to help." Arthur replied with a kind smile. His soft green eyes were watching Gwyn. She gazed into them, as if challenging him. To what, she didn't know, but she didn't like being watched. It unnerved her.

"Gwyndolyn, you missed Gawain being knocked down by Bradon." Tristan interrupted the bizarre staring match between his sister and commander.

"Damn." she muttered under breathe as she turned back to climb the fence once more. Tristan covered his surprise at her knowledge at curse words by looking down at his apple to slice another piece off to eat.

 _What had his sister endured as she wandered on her own?_


	6. The Past Haunts Us

**The Past Haunts Us**

Gwyndolyn's responsibilities at the tavern were simple really. She would come to the kitchen of the tavern before sunrise. Vanora would knead bread dough and set a cloth over it to rise the night before. The cool air of the night would keep the dough from rising too fast and spoiling. Gwyn would then portion it out and place it in the open fire oven that she would start as she her first task. Their system was smooth and calculated.

After the bread was placed in the oven, Gwyn would begin chopping her vegetables for what ever dish she were instructed to make. When her vegetables were done, she would take the bread from the oven and set it on the cooling shelf. By then, the soldiers and knights had started making their way over to the tavern for some breakfast. This was the time that Gwyndolyn would begin to feel uncomfortable.

Since no man was able to be silent, save for her brother, the men would clamor into the tavern loudly. Gwyn would come from the safety of her kitchen and then have to interact with them. She would bring out bowls of apples and berries. Leftover bread from the day before would have to be broken into chunks and cool water from the well would be poured into pitchers and brought out with mugs. Those who requested porridge would have a bowl of hot grains placed in front of them.

Gwyn had a routine that worked well for her and it didn't take her long to obtain it. She had been working in the kitchen for a fortnight now. Her Latin improved and she was always polite. Tristan always greeted her with a gentle kiss on her hair and an affectionate squeeze of her shoulder. She would smile brightly at him and continue with her chores. Gwyn would refill the occasional emptied pitcher with water and clear away bowls and plates to be washed. Often times she had to scold one of them for begging too loudly and long for a mug of ale. Vanora had warned her that might happen, so she would shove a mug of water in their hands with a stern look.

And before she knew it, the knights and soldiers would be off to go about their duties. And then the hard work would happen.

Gwyndolyn had to wash the dishes before she could start any stew or roast. That chore always took the longest, since men were messy. But Gwyn would be up to her elbows in water, scrubbing the stubborn dishes to rid them of food. She was always rewarded with an empty basin and plenty of tableware for the dinner horde. By then, Vanora would be making an appearance with the meat for the day.

Today Gwyn was making a stew. So, she took the bloody piece of meat that Vanora had handed her and drained the blood into a pot to mix with the water. Gwyn grabbed the sharpest knife that Vanora had and began cutting the hunk of meat into bite sized pieces. Gwyndolyn hummed as she worked. It kept her attention to her task and it also kept the children quiet when they would enter the kitchen looking for scraps. Gwyn learned early to always place a bowl of some chopped fruit and berries next to her for them to snack on. She would always smile lightly when she caught their tiny hands sneaking into the bowl.

She saw that they were out of water already, so Gwyn called to Vanora to let her know she was going to the well. Vanora called back and Gwyn rinsed her hands of the sticky blood. After drying her hands on her soft leather skirt, she snatched the water jug and started her walk.

The fort was alive with bodies and animals. Being in the kitchen most of the morning, Gwyn didn't get to witness the fort waking up. She was always greeted to the sight of people rushing about to get chores done. She never got to see children rub the sleep from their eyes, only them running around smiling and laughing. She preferred it that way. It kept her alert and focused.

It took two dips of the water bucket to fill the water jog. Gwyn hefted the heavy jug to rest on her shoulder for easier carrying. The weight didn't bother her, it was the awkward shape of the jug. She didn't care for it and that resulted in her carrying it on her shoulder when it was filled with water. The cumbersome little thing.

As Gwyn made her way back to the tavern, she watched the people mind their business. Mostly she was looking for trouble. Today, the trouble came in the form of Lancelot. Only, she didn't get a warning before the jug was lifted from its perch. The weightlessness took her suddendly. Gwyn turned to thoroughly admonish whomever had decided to steal her water when she was met with the laughing eyes of the charming knight.

"Let me unburden you of this heavy load, fair lady." Lancelot said with a charming smile gracing his soft features. Gwyndolyn narrowed her eyes.

"'Tis not too heavy, fearsome knight." she responded in a mocking tone. Hardly any of the knights scared her. She could deal with swords and axes. They were weapons she grew up learning herself.

"You wound me, Gwyndolyn." the young man returned her mocking tone with his own.

"Why are you not with the other knights? Are you not training today?" her inquiry held a hopeful tone. She had only been around Tristan at night as she ate her second meal of the day. They usually sat together, with his brother in arms, at the tavern. She treasured her moments with him.

"Today we are going around the fort and doing maintenance. The rains are coming soon and roofs tend to need fixing to keep the rain out. I was trying to find one in need of mending and I happened upon you struggling with this heavy jug of water. Being the helpful man that I am, I offered my assistance." he flashed a toothy smile to Gwyn who rolled her eyes. His charm really didn't work on her.

"More like you forced your help on me." she muttered. Lancelot grinned at her pouting.

"Oh, you can handle a helping hand every now and again. It doesn't hurt to accept what is offered." he said softly. His eyes danced with mirth as she sign resignedly. It wouldn't do to try and not accept his help. He would just bother her in other ways.

"With those words, thank you Lancelot. I do appreciate the assistance." Gwyn bowed her head slightly. Lancelot returned the gesture.

"You are most welcome!" he replied as they entered the tavern, "Vanora, do you need any help with your roof?" Lancelot called to the woman sitting behind the counter. She smiled brightly before rising and making her way to the approaching pair.

"Lancelot! How are you today?" Vanora said with a small squeeze to his shoulder, "I'm not sure. The last rain didn't spring any leaks, but it was not heavy. Would you mind taking a gander? Gwyn, there are two gentlemen in need of a midday meal. Would you please bring them a plate of dried meat, cheese and bread?"

"Certainly, Miss Vanora. Thank you for carrying the not-so-heavy jug of water, good knight." Gwyn unloaded the water from Lancelot's arms before heading back to the kitchen.

When she entered, Gwyn made quick work of cutting some cheese into pieces and slicing some bread. Snatching a few strips of dried beef, she filled a pitcher with water and hung two mugs from her fingers. She gathered the plates and pitcher into her arms and stepped out of the kitchen. Two Roman soldiers were at some tables, waiting for their food. They were in a heated discussion.

"Two plates and a pitcher of water for you gentlemen. And two mugs as well." Gwyn greeted the soldiers cordially. She barely gave them a sparing glance as she was about to turn to the kitchen to start the stew.

"Isn't she familiar?" one of the Romans asked the other. Gwyn felt her blood turn to ice as she recognized the voice.

"She's the one from up north, right?" the other agreed with his partner. The sounds of the bench being scooted back met Gwyn's ears as she took a sharp breathe.

"No." her voice was airy and full of dread. This wasn't happening to her.

"Oh yes. We killed her pony and disarmed her. She was a nasty little spitfire, wasn't she?" now the tone was cruel and cold.

"I recall she tried to kill Atticus with one of her blades." the other's tone was mocking and distasteful. Gwyn turned to the Romans and felt her face drain of color. They had killed her horse and taken her prisoner! She could see a few of the daggers that they had taken from her person that fateful day peeking from their belts. Gwyndolyn didn't know if she should be afraid at their threatening appearance or enraged that they dared to parade around with her father's weapons as if they owned them.

"Is there anything I can do for you as well?" Gwyn pretended they didn't just have a conversation about her right in front of her. Mayhap they would leave after they ate and never bother her again. The nasty glint in their blue eyes told her a different tale.

"I have unfinished business with you." the one closest to her snarled, "You almost killed my fellow soldier. I take great offense to that." Gwyn took an involuntary step back.

The Roman was quick as lightening. He grasped her wrist and twisted until Gwyndolyn was whimpering in pain. The awful man wrenched it behind her back in a controling postition. Gwyn gasped as her shoulder protested the move. Gwyndolyn tried to think of anything that would counter the hold. But she wasn't calm and her mind could think of nothing.

"What is the meaning of this?" a shriek came from the kitchen. Vanora was standing in the doorway, red faced and spitting fire.

"Mind your own, wench!" the Roman who didn't have a hold on Gwyn stepped towards Vanora and Gwyn became frantic. They could not hurt Vanora!

"Get your filthy paw off of me!" Gwyn growled as she began to struggle through the pain radiating from her arm.

"Shut your cursed mouth, scum." the one holding Gwyndolyn snarled into her ear.

"Leave her be! She is my cook and has done nothing wrong!" Vanora came from behind the bartop and Gwyn didn't like that.

"No, Miss Vanora! Go fetch Lancelot!" Gwyn called. A sharp tug had her eyes watering and yelping at the intense pressure, "Now!"

"Vanora, is there anything wrong?" Lancelot appeared from the side of the tavern and quickly took in the scene. His face went hard when he realized that Gwyndolyn was being held against her will by a Roman soldier not from Hadrian's Wall and his partner was standing threateningly towards his brother's lover, "What is this?" he calmly asked despite the dark look crossing his features.

"This wench almost killed a Roman soldier and threatened other Roman soldiers with weapons." the taller one who was threatening Vanora replied with an air of authority. The knight quickly assessed the problem.

"Very well. We need to bring her to the commander, Arturios Castus, so she can be questioned." he informed them, "Perhaps we can let the girl walk on her own?"

"We could, but this way I know that she will not be getting away." the one with the hold on Gwyn replied with another sharp tug. Gwyn gasped at the increase in pressure. A single tear escaped her eye.

"Very well. Let me lead you to our leader." Lancelot shot Gwyn an apologetic look and started his way towards the knight's building.

Gwyn struggled to remain upright. The Roman soldier purposefully kept her arm higher so she would either dislocate her shoulder or walk on her toes. Gwyndolyn gritted her teeth and stubbornly walked on her toes. Lancelot walked stiffly and swiftly. He could hear Gwyndolyn struggling against her captor, but could do nothing to help her. His accusations were pretty serious and only Arthur could fix the situation.

"Oi!" a shout came from the side. Lancelot looked to the left to see Phelan jogging towards the procession. He had a confused look plastered to his face.

"She is being accused of trying to kill a Roman soldier and threatening other Romans with weapons. They are bringing her to Arthur for questioning." Lancelot informed him. Lancelot blinked once and decided to switch to their birth language, "Go find Tristan. I don't know what is going to happen, but he should be there." and Phelan left to comply with the order.

The little group entered the stone building. Gwyndolyn could feel the dread deep in her gut. She had stabbed one of the Romans in the shoulder. She did threaten them all as well as she held a dagger in her hand. Those were true. But they had just killed her horse and she was scared. They had her circled and trapped. A trapped animal attacks when the threat gets close enough.

Lancelot led them down the hall to the Round Table. He signaled for them to wait for his command. The knight opened the door slowly and could be heard murmuring to the occupants. A brief moment passed before Lancelot nodded his head once and opened the doors wide, letting the Romans pass into the room, Gwyndolyn in tow.


	7. Admitting Transgressions

**Admitting Transgressions**

The vile man gave Gwyndolyn's arm one last sharp pull that had her crying out and more tears running down her cheeks as her pain tolerance was exceeded. The Roman gave a self satisfied smirk before shoving the petite girl into the room. Gwyn lost her footing at the sudden force and fell through the door, landing on her stomach and chest.

"What is going on?" Arthur asked in outrage, "Why are you treating the girl so harshly?"

Gwyndolyn attempted to push herself off the floor, but a boot in the back of her neck changed her mind. Her cheek was pressed into the hardwood flooring uncomfortably. She just wanted to be left alone.

"This whore almost killed a fellow Roman and threatened more Romans with weapons. I wish to make her pay for her crimes." the one with the boot pinning her down replied with a hard tone to his voice. He pressed down into her neck and Gwyn pressed her lips together to keep from making a sound. A dull thud came from the table.

"Stand down, Tristan!" the sharp order had Gwyndolyn closing her eyes in shame. Her brother shouldn't be here to hear her crimes, "And when, exactly, did the girl commit these crimes? Surly not since her stay here at Hadrian's Wall?" Arthur directed at the Romans diplomatically.

"We found her wandering the road many years back. She didn't heed our orders to identify herself and let us check her for contraband." the second Roman replied.

"Did she understand Latin?" Arthur questioned resonably.

"She never said." came the reply with another press of the boot.

"Kindly take your boot out of her neck." Lancelot ordered calmly. Gwyndolyn felt grateful at the attempt of mercy. She could feel the bruises forming on her neck and cheek.

"She is shifty. I prefer to keep her under foot to prevent her from escaping."

"I'm afraid I am going to insist. This is not how we treat prisoners." Arthur pressed with an edge to his tone.

"Fine." a hiss came as the pressure was lifted from Gwyn. A fist curled into her hair and pulled her up sharply. A small gasp escaped her lips as pain erupted in her skull. Gwyndolyn detested being manhandled.

"Gwyndolyn, have you anything to say for yourself?" Arthur looked uncomfortable having to ask the question. Whether it was from the new form of torture being inflicted or from the accusations being brought forth, Gwyn didn't know. Her small hands wrapped around the wrist of the Roman to try and eleviate some of the pull on her scalp.

She licked her lips nervously and fought the urge to glance at Tristan. She focused her dark brown eyes on Arthur and swallowed the sweet taste of her native tongue that was playing on her tongue. She would need to do this in Latin to keep Arthur on her side and hopefully see reason. She didn't want to lose Tristan again.

"I had been traveling on the main road when a group of Roman soldiers came along side of me. They started making demands in Latin and I did not understand. It was new for me to hear this language. I did my best to stay calm, but my horse grew agitated at the loud voices and their overbearing presence." Gwyn tried to keep the pain from her voice as a flick of the Roman's wrist sent waves of pain crashing down her spine, "One of them knocked me off and the men descended upon Nualla and slit her throat. I pulled one of my daggers and when one of the Romans tried to capture me, I stabbed his shoulder.

"I pulled another dagger and held my ground. They had already circled me. So, I tried to keep them away. But I only had daggers, they had full length swords. Once they over powered my person, they bound me and took my father's blades. You can see three of them in their belts. I didn't wound the Roman grievously. I recall he walked away." Gwyn hissed in pain as it felt like her scalp was being torn. The Roman's clearly hadn't thought she would tell the whole story.

"So, you do admit to stabbing and attacking Roman soldiers?" Arthur asked blankly.

"Yes." Gwyn said, her hope of finding her way out of this mess diminishing greatly.

"What happened when they had you as their capturee?" he still held no emotion in his voice. Gwyn felt tears gather in the corner of her eyes, but refused to let them fall.

"I was made to walk behind a steed attached by rope. At night, I was given scraps to eat. I was given water when I looked ready to fall over. Some nights I was beaten, others I was left alone." Gwyn muttered. Lancelot cursed under his breathe. Gwyn resisted looking at him in fear that she would break down. Arthur's indifference kept her from showing weakness.

"How long were you under their command?" his green eyes had dulled. They were not the sparkling moss green of youth, but the blunt grass green of authority.

"A month and a fortnight." Gwyndolyn replied in a dejected tone. Now that she lost hope, she just waited for him to command they take her away. Gwyndolyn couldn't bear the thought and stole a glance at Tristan. His eyes were burning with rage under his bangs. At the most her quiet Tristan had been true to his name. He would watch her leave while he fumed quietly at his place.

"How old were you at the time?"

"Thirteen." Gwyn whispered.

"Did you act in such a manner to defend yourself?" Arthur's tone had hardened and Gwyn winced.

"I thought I was going to get my throat split open like Nualla. I was afraid." Gwyndolyn didn't understand why that question had to be asked.

"Very well. I have come to a decision." Arthur stood from his chair and tore his eyes from Gwyn. Her skull was throbbing from the hold on her hair, "You two have a choice to make. You will either spend a month and a fortnight in my cells or you will release that girl and be on your way. If you so choose that option, you will not seek her out or try to imprison her again. She was a girl of thirteen in a foreign land with no knowledge of the native tongue. Furthermore, fierce men surrounded her and she acted out of instinct. It was unbecoming of the Roman Empire to hold her in such a way." Arthur turned to the left, "Tristan, go collect Gwyndolyn from these men."

A shuffling sound floated in the air and then Gwyn felt someone step next to her. The hand in her hair didn't loosen, but there were gentle fingers on her shoulder to let her know that Tristan was standing next to her and she wouldn't be leaving the Wall.

"Release her!" the sharp command had Gwyn flinching.

The grip relinquished her hair and a boot to the back had her careening into the floor. Gwyn's palms smacked on the wood and she scrambled to regain her footing. She heard the sound of blades being drawn and twisted her frame around to catch Tristan unsheathing a knife. Gwyndolyn jumped in front of her brother and cradled his jaw in her soft hands, trying to push the blood lust from his eyes.

"I am safe. I am unharmed." she whispered and she saw him flick his enraged hot eyes at the bruise on her cheek, "I am not bleeding." she tried again and this cooled the fire in his eyes. The tension leaked from his body and the knife was placed back into his belt.

"Lancelot, if you would escort the gentlemen out of Hadrian' Wall." the commander's tone was calmer, but still firm. Gwyn felt Tristan grasp her elbow lightly and started pulling her away from the vile men.

"With pleasure." venom dripped from Lancelot's words. His normal jovial tone was masked with anger.

Gwyndolyn watched as the Roman soldiers were escorted through the doors. A parting curled lip and glare was the last that Gwyn remembered of them. While they were gone, there was still one Roman that she was worried about. Once the doors slammed with a resounding thud, Gwyn looked up to Tristan for courage. Arthur was surly going to throw her in a cell! She would throw herself in a cell.

"To come back to where we were before we were interrupted, Tristan, I need you to go North and find any camps. There have been complaints of attacks from the Woads and people are starting to panic." Arthur sat back down in his seat and made some notes on some paper.

"Should I leave under the cover of night?" Tristan asked as he pushed an apple into Gwyn's hands. _When did you grab the apple?_

"That would be best. I will see you when you return for a full report." his tone was crisp, but not harsh. He was Commander Artorius.

"Aye." and Tristan made to leave the Round Table, but Gwyndolyn held firm. She was confused and wanted some answers.

"Arthur?" her quiet voice broke the concentration of the half Roman. He glanced up from his task.

"Yes, Gwyndolyn?"

"Are you to throw me into a cell?"

"Now why would I ever do that?" Arthur looked bewildered at her question.

"I attacked soldiers. I even made one bleed." Gwyn's brows drew together in confusion.

"I hold by what I said." he replied simply, "If I were you, I would ask Vanora for the day off. You look pale and your eyes are wide in shock. You need rest."

"I'll tend to her as I pack." Tristan informed his leader.

"Wait, why?" Gwyndolyn started fidgeting with the apple in her hands. She hadn't even looked at it and didn't know what color it was.

"Why do you need rest? So that your body can calm itself." at Gwyn's frustrated huff, Arthur felt a smirk play with his features, "I believe that you were just a scared girl who had fallen into a terrible situation. Yes, you may have spilt Roman blood, but they more than made you suffer for your actions. Be warned though, I will not have the ability to save you again." and then Gwyndolyn felt like she were being dismissed.

"Come, little Gwyn." Tristan murmured into her ear. She nodded as he led her away by her elbow. Gwyn took one last look at the young commander.

"Thank you, Arthur." she whispered delicately. A small smile bloomed on Arthur's face to let her know he had heard her. Gwyndolyn felt a mirroring one form on her petite features.


	8. Aftermath

**Aftermath**

Tristan left that night after giving explicit instructions for Gwyndolyn to stay in bed intil the morning. He left her wrapped in blankets with a kiss on her forehead and promises to return in a week. Gwyn didn't want him to leave for that long, but his duty to Arthur forced him to leave her. With a small, knowing smile, he told her to rest and not to fret. There is a reason why he is the scout for Arthur. And he was gone.

Gwyndolyn did fall asleep for a few hours. When she did wake up, it was growing dark outside. Her chest felt empty. She didn't have her brother with her and he wouldn't be back for a few days yet. It was positively frightening thinking that she would have to walk the fort herself without the constant presence of Tristan. She felt smaller than ever.

The dark haired girl felt restless in the room without her equally dark haired brother. It was odd to be there without him. He always fell asleep next to her and would be gone in the morning for his knightly duties. It was a comfortable routine for her and it worked well for the both of them. Granted, Gwyn didn't know if her brother stayed in the room after she fell asleep, but it was nice to pretend so.

After donning her brother's light cloak, Gwyn set out to the tavern to apologize to Vanora about the morning mishap. Not much of a mishap as an assault. I do hope that Miss Vanora is all right. Gwyn was deep in thought, something that she had gotten accustomed to while traveling alone on the road, as she walked slowly to the tavern. She missed all the odd and shocked looks at the deep bruise on her cheek.

Instead of arrivng through the front, Gwyn chose to enter through the kitchen. Upon her immediate arrival, she was bodily assualted with flaming red hair and soft sobs. It took a moment before Gwyndolyn collected her wits and was hugging Vanora and making soothing sounds to reassure the woman that she was unharmed and well. The quiet sobs stilled and the tight embrace slacked as Vanora cried out her worries.

"What happened?" the fierce woman whispered harshly, her voice ragged with emotion and thick with lingering tears.

"I can explain after I have had a full meal and maybe a good, long ride." Gwyn answered with an apologetic. The truth was, she wasn't ready to confess all of her wrongs so early in their hopeful friendship. Gwyndolyn didn't want people to view her differently than just Tristan's younger sister.

"Very well. I will be waiting for an explaination. I haven't seen Tristan though. I had assumed he was with you." Vanora chattered easily as she served a bowl of steaming stew to Gwyn with a thick slice of bread to sop up the broth. The black haired girl took it with a smile of gratitude.

"He is preparing his horse for a scouting." Gwyn replied as she snatched a spoon and made her way to the door, "Thank you, Miss Vanora. And I do apologize for making a scene."

"Think nothing of it. Go and eat. You have had enough excitement for one day." the kind woman flashed a bright smile to the younger girl, "And call me Vanora. I am not much your elder." and Gwyn left with a secret smile.

Gwyndolyn wandered into the main seating area. She avoided eyes and stares as she walked. It was unnerving everyone picked up on the bruises marring the small features of the girl. She brushed off the feeling of eyes following her as she made her way to a dark corner away from the main bustle of the serving girls and the men. She could smell them beginning to get deep into their mugs. The stifling cloud of ale in the air set her teeth on edge.

The stew was warm and soothing in her belly. Gwyndolyn could feel the day's stress unwinding from her shoulders and back. It saddened her to think that Vanora had to make it herself instead of being able to rely on her to cook for the numerous men and women who came to dine at the tavern. But Gwyn forced the feeling down knowing that wallowing would do no good for anyone involved seeing as it was unavoidable. She mostly wished that the incident didn't have to happen.

"Are you well?" a soft voice came from her right. Gwyn hadn't heard Lancelot approaching, so his voice flittering into her ears was a surprise. Her dark brown eyes snapped up to meet equally dark brown eyes that were tight with concern.

"I slept off the rush of today." she answered before shifting down on the barrel shelf to make room for the knight so he chose to sit with her.

"Arthur mentioned he told you to go rest after the soldiers left. It seems to have done some good. You aren't as pale as before." Lancelot commented before taking a pull from his ale.

"I feel better. I am sorry that you had to be involved though." Gwyn tore a piece of her bread offered it to the dark curly haired man and he took it gently as if he were afraid she would shatter like glass if he touched her. He waved off her apology.

"I was more worried for you. That bruise looks awful. Was it seen to?" Lancelot asked around the bread. Gwyn shook her head.

"I've had bruises before, I think I'll manage." she responded with a small smile. Lancelot returned the smile with one of his own over the rim of his ale, "Is that any good?" Gwyn asked with a curious nod to the mug.

"Oh, one can only find out for themselves." he replied with an amused lilt to his voice. The corners of his mouth twitched with the effort of not smiling too wickedly at the young woman. The knight finally took a seat next to her.

"Your charm knows no bounds." Gwyn commented with a smirk. She would not be tempted by his teasing words and seductive features no matter how hard he tried. Gwyndolyn was not looking for a night of foolishness.

"No, it doesn't." he replied with a soft chuckle. Gwyn raised an amused eyebrow at his arrogance.

"So modest, too."

"Very much so, fair lady." he said easily and took another long pull of ale, "Why are you hiding in this dreary corner?"

"I don't think I'm up to much company. The last time I tried to converse with two men, I ended up being dragged through the fort. I don't want to repeat that experience too soon." Gwyn replied before she finished her bowl of stew. The meat and vegetables settled deeply in her bones in a comforting embrace. She sighed contently before turning towards Lancelot, "Why are you here in this deary corner?"

"I've come to charm a beautiful young woman with my words." he replied with a smirk. Gwyn blushed pink and turned her eyes to the empty bowl in her lap.

"Those are cloyingly sweet words. I don't like cloyingly sweet things, Lancelot." she muttered. She shifted uncomfortably on her perch. And then a thought struck her, "Tristan asked you to look after me like I am some child!" this time Lancelot shifted in his seat.

"Well, not in those words, exactly." he said before bringing the mug to his lips. Before he could take a drink, Gwyn grabbed it from his hands and drained the contents. He watched her carefully as she mulled the taste around her tongue.

"Now, you can't ignore my questions." she said with an edge to her tone. Gwyn handed the empty mug back to the flabbergasted man, "If not in those words, what then?"

"He said to mind you. He is concerned because of the happenings this morning." Lancelot said truthfully. The look that was in Gwyn's dark eyes was eerily similar to her brother's when he was angry. This was just a budding rage and he wanted to put it out before it boiled over, "Tristan only wants eyes on you when you are at the tavern eating and serving the morning meal."

"And?" Gwyn could hear the words that he wasn't saying. Tristan wanted him to watch her as she did her bidding around the town. He knew that she was often alone in the kitchen, on the way to the well, to and from the men's barracks. She always felt his eyes on her when he could spare the time, his own personal vigil over his sister.

"You already know, why ask?" a hardness entered Lancelot's tone. He felt like he was being scolded for stealing a loaf of bread and it was offensive. He was not a young boy anymore. He was a grown man!

"I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. You don't need to waste your time keeping an eye out for me as I wander about, doing my chores for the kitchen." she snapped as she slid from the shelf, "Thank you for the company, Sir Knight."

"Gwyndolyn, wait." Lancelot laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, "At least let me..." he trailed off as Gwyn rested a searing glare on his face, "Or someone else walk you to the barracks. Then you won't see us until the morning when we come down to eat."

The girl shrugged off the strange weight and nodded her head in acceptance. The knight's shoulders drooped in relief and he ran a hand through his hair. Gwyndolyn had never seen the knight look nervous before.

"What did my brother promise you if harm were to befall me?" Gwyn asked softly and quietly. Lancelot smirked slightly at that.

"I can't answer that in mixed company." he replied cheekily. Gwyn rolled her eyes.

"My brother has been threatening manhoods for many years now. Don't think I didn't hear his words when I was younger." Gwyndolyn laughed at the incredulous look that Lancelot held in his features.

"You are just like him!"

"I am his sister. We were born to the same man and woman. The black hair was no coinsidence." Gwyn didn't know the exact moment they had stepped out of the tavern, but she decided that she wasn't going to ponder it. After being roughed up earlier, she was mostly glad she had someone to walk her to Tristan's room.

"Now all I can see is his face on the body of a woman." Lancelot groaned.

"You may as well keep that in mind." Gwyn said as she turned to the dark knight, "I may be out of practice, but I was taught to loose an arrow same as him."

"Why am I cursed to know two Tristans?" Lancelot said in mock disdain, "It was troublesome to have one of him, now I have two to worry about."

"Don't fret, fearsome knight, I'll not kill you in your sleep. Only when you are awake." Gwyn giggled at the knight's dramatics.

"That does not make me feel better, Gwyndolyn." the knight replied seriously.

"Gwyn. You may call me Gwyn." Gwyn offered softly. After Lancelot's nod, she smiled darkly, "And that wasn't supposed to make you feel better. Just to warn you that I know my way around a weapon. Nothing more."

"That still doesn't make me feel better." Lancelot said as they came upon Tristan's room, "Goodnight, fair Gwyn. I am already looking foreward to breakfast in the morning."

"Goodnight, Lancelot." she replied as she opened the door and stepped through the threshold, "I'll see you after sunrise."


	9. Comfort

**Comfort**

The silence in the room was overwhelming. The soft breeze coming in through the opened shutters was cool and made the hair on Gwyndolyn's skin stand on end. Goose pimples puckered the skin on her exposed arms. The moving air gently brushed her hair from her face. But Gwyn didn't close the window.

She wanted to be made to leave the room. She wanted the excuse so she wouldn't have to stay here. The whole room smelled like her brother. Leather. Horses. Sweat. It made her feel lonely because there was no heat behind the scent. His warm body was missing. His soft breathing was absent. And Gwyn could feel it all throughout the room.

With a heavy sigh, she donned the light cloak and left the room silently. She closed the door with a soft click and wandered down the quiet hall. The knights were still at the tavern, drinking their bellies full of ale and wine. It was somewhat comforting to know that the fort still continues after so much excitement. To Gwyn, that meant that she would one day, too, get past her transgressions and once again feel like herself.

That day was not going to be this night. This night she felt lonely and she hated the feeling. She had hated being alone on the road. She hated not having someone to talk to. She hated not being near a warm body. For all the hard living she did while with her parents, they were always there. After her father died, her mother was always there, until she wasn't. Even after her mother started to pull away from her, she still had the other children in their village to keep her company. Gwyn was a personable girl. She preferred company to quiet.

And now she had none.

Well, she had no one for a week.

But that felt too long. Because of the comfort she craved after the disaster that was today, she needed a soft embrace and a soothing voice. She needed Tristan, but he couldn't be here. And the sooner that Gwyndolyn just swallowed the sadness, the better off she would be. The quicker that she accepted that comfort and soothing would have to wait, the better she would feel.

But not this night.

She would allow those feelings to take over and make her vulnerable. Because that is what she wanted to do, tonight. She allowed her feet to lead her blindly to whatever destination they felt. Because Gwyn was tired of pondering and trying to figure out the world. She just wanted to let fate flow over her like a gentle stream. Because it felt like the right thing to do, with feeling so lost. It was the right path she should be on. The only path that could be laid out in a stone fortress anyhow.

When Gwyn shook herself out of her musings, she found herself out of the parapette, over looking the woods that her brother was in, tracking the blue people. That brought a timid smile to her face. Tristan was keeping her safe. He was comforting her in the only way he knew how; the only way he was taught since leaving their home. He was protecting her.

The spring breeze was cool and it helped clear her mind of raging thoughts. It flowed through her hair like water and gently caressed her bruised cheek. The ghostly fingers ran along her skin and brought goose pimples. A euphoric smile crossed her features and she closed her eyes. Gwyn loved the wind. It was the Gods comforting you and holding onto you. It reminded you that you were never alone. Your ancestors stood behind you and protected you until it was your time.

That is how she knew that Tristan would come back safely. That is how Gwyn knew he was still alive while her parents believed him dead. Her mother told her once it was better to imagine their son dead than enduring the treatment of Romans. Gwyn had scowled at her and left the hut they resided in in a huff and shot a target full of arrows. Her fingers had turned bloody by the time she had calmed down.

Gwyndolyn focused on the memory of drawing a bow. She stared at the woods as her her fingers felt the smooth string and cool of the wood. The softness of the feathers ghosted across her cheek as she imagined herself drawing back an arrow to release into a grass target. The whistle of the projectile as it soared and the thud of the steel head finding its target. Gwyn drew in a deep breathe, pulling in the faint smell of the strong wood her bow had been made of. It was sweet and gentle, belying the strength and power it had possessed. Gwyn could curse the filth that had stolen it from her.

She decided that she would ask Tristan to help her craft a bow and widdle some arrows for practice. She wanted to practice. She wanted to feel the taunt wood in her palm and the bite of the stretched string on her fingers. Just the thoughts of pulling the sharpened wood across her body helped her heart feel calm. Because to shoot accurately, you needed to be calm and collected.

And Gwyn knew she would need to be calm and collected to learn how to be amongst people again. And the added comfort of knowing how to defend yourself helped.

Gwyn went back to the room feeling much more at peace. And when she slept that night, she dreamt of two children with black hair learning how to shoot strong bows with sharp arrows into grass targets by a tall man with long black hair and small tattoos on his cheeks. His dark eyes sparkled with love. And Gwyn felt it in her heart.


	10. Rooftops At Night

**Rooftops At Night**

"It smells wonderful, Gwyndolyn!" Vanora exclaimed as she entered the kitchen. She hadn't been in it since she dropped off the meat a few hours before. That was normal.

"Thank you, Vanora." Gwyn responded softly. She flashed a small, proud smile.

"What are you getting into today?" the red head asked as she adjusted the sling cradling her baby in.

"I think I will be exploring the town." the ebony haired girl replied, avoiding looking at Vanora. Gwyndolyn had every intention of exploring the town, but she didn't want to specify which part. Would it be suspicious if she wanted to explore the rooftops and the prospect of various little secret spots to store basic survival tools?

"That is a great idea!" Vanora replied, unassuming of the smaller girl.

"I will just take my roast and eat it quickly. I don't want to lose too much light." Gwyndolyn stated as she served herself a small portion. With some bread and a mug of water, the dark haired girl made her way out to the eating area.

Gwyn had decided she would explore her living quarters in detail. She found that Tristan kept very little save for components to make arrows and tools for sharpening blades. He also kept few spare tunics. The sight of the spare arrow heads and feathers awakened the need to protect herself. Gwyndolyn never took off the knife that her brother had given her the first day. It was always nestled against her inner thigh, safe in its scabbard.

While she had been preparing the morning meal and cutting vegetables one morning, Gwyn had caught sight of a rooftop on her little window. A brief moment of pondering and Gwyn had decided that she would explore the rooftops under the cover of night fall. Her soft soled boots and light feet would be quiet enough to avoid detection. Her small form could move in the shadows without being seen.

The purpose, Gwyndolyn decided, was storing weatherproofed weapons. Further in the future, Gwyn would have the means to store extra currency if she ever had the need to depart the fort without collecting her belongings. Since food could spoil, Gwyn would have to rely on any stored coins to provide her with vittles if that were ever the case. Gwyn didn't like to be caught unawares. And the surprise that was the Romans only a few days ago, was enough for Gwyn. She would not be cast as some helpless damsel in distress.

At the thought of the Romans, Gwyn's bruises twinged slightly. She resisted the urge to rub them better and continued eating her roast. The physical reminder of the encounter made her blood run hot. It really was an annoyance that she had been complacent. After she had ran from them, she had never expected to see them again. The island was big enough that their paths might never cross again. What Gwyndolyn should have thought when she was brought to the fort was that she was in Roman territory and that Romans gather around Romans.

Gwyn sighed into her mug. She really had gone soft since leaving her land. Her senses had dulled and her body had gotten stiff. Gwyn wondered if her brother had a practice sword lying around or maybe a practice bow she could string up. Of the times she had caught her brother training, it had made her joints ache to join him. Her muscles needed to be loosened and strengthened. Gwyn knew that. She wasn't sure that Tristan was able to see it.

"What has you thinking intently so?" a familiar voice broke through her thoughts. Gwyn snapped her eyes up into the warm brown of Galahad's gaze.

A soft smile stretched her lips. Galahad was a warm young man. He was impossibly polite to Gwyndolyn. Although, Gwyn feared it was more because of her brother than because she was a young woman. He was a winter or two younger than herself. With Tristan being five years his senior, it was no wonder that he didn't like to step on the darker knight's toes. Gwyndolyn didn't know if Tristan had said anything to other knights about her, but just claiming relation to him was enough to put off a lot of their attention.

"World domination." Gwyn answered with a dark twinkle in her eye. Galahad smirked at her antics.

"Ah, if that be the case, can I join you?" he asked tentively. After her nod of affirm, the younger knight took the spot next to her on the bench. He snatched a piece of potato and quickly tossed it into his mouth.

"I didn't say you could eat my food!" Gwyn said through a giggle. Galahad just smiled.

"To be fair, you also didn't say I couldn't." he said as he picked a piece of meat off and it quickly disappeared into his mouth. Gwyndolyn smacked his shoulder in quiet protest, but didn't let the amusement drop from her face.

"I'm full anyhow, would you like the rest?" she asked as she pushed the half eaten food his way. He smiled wider as he accepted the offered plate, "I'll fetch you more water and then be on my way." Gwyn stated as she rose with her mug in hand.

"Where are you off to after?" Gwyn just held up a finger as she walked over to the kitchen. When she entered, she strode over to the water bucket and scooped some water out to fill her mug.

"Vanora, Galahad is at the table. He is finishing my plate and will more than likely be in to get more."

"Thank you, Gwyn." Vanora replied as she wiped her hands on her apron. Gwyn flashed her a bright smile and waved good bye before slipping out of the doorway.

Some of the other knights had started to gather around the table. They were talking amongst themselves. The knight named Kieran was nicking pieces of meat from the plate in front of Galahad. While it was amusing to see him scowl at his brother in arms, Gwyn took pity on the smaller boy. She came up behind the two and placed the mug of water softly on the table. As Kieran reached to take another nibble of food, Gwyn smacked the back of his hand sharply. In surprise, Kieran dropped the food and pulled his hand away quickly, rubbing the reddening flesh. He turned narrowed eyes on the small girl.

"'Ey! What was that fer?" he asked her indignantly.

"Want me to kiss it better?" she asked and a few curious eyes trained on the pair. A suspicious look spread across his features. When Gwyn gave no indication she had said it in jest, a small leecherous smile played across Kieran's lips.

"I think that would only be fair." he replied and brought his hand up towards Gwyn's face.

Quick as lightening, she struck the back of his again. The already stinging skin started to burn. Kieran brought his hand to his chest as if to protect it from a third onslaught. Gwyn placed her hands on her hips and fixed a stern look onto the mischievious knight. A round of roaring laughter surrounded the table.

"Go get your own then." she scolded him. A few snickers came from the other knights.

"You are a tease, vixen." Kieran said before winking at her and lifting his wiry frame from the bench. Gwyn rolled her eyes and trained her dark gaze on Galahad.

"I'm going around town." she answered his earlier question, "I'll be seeing you lot tomorrow. Have a pleasant evening, gentlemen." she said politely and was met with a round of 'good nights' from the knights.

Gwyndolyn left the warmth of the tavern and stepped out into the cooling street. A slight shiver went up her spine at the temperature change. She strolled towards the barracks. Her plan was to go to Tristan's room and sleep until it became dark. Then, she would have the freedom to travel under the stars and moonlight. Perfect for less than honest activity.

* * *

Gwyndolyn rolled over and sighed softly. Her eyes blinked open and were met with dim light. She slid the blanket off her body and her skin prickled at the cool night air. She ignored the cold and rose from the comfort of the bed. Gwyn had pulled one of her brother's thicker tunics from his drawers and slipped it over her head and smoothed it over her leather vest. She located the strip of leather and began to braid her hair. After tying it off with the scrap of leather, she untied her leather skirt.

The only problem with wearing a skirt was that when it swayed, it made noises. To keep herself as quiet as possible, she would have to go without the piece of clothing. Her soft breeches were silent when she moved. Gwyn also couldn't wear a cloak. The swishing of the ends would alert anyone who walked in the night. That was the only reason for donning one of Tristan's tunics. Although, it looked more like a dress on her than a shirt.

To resolve that problem, Gwyn took all the dagger scabbards from her belt and secured it around her waist. To deal with the extra cloth, Gwyn had folded the back of the tunic tight against her form. To keep it tight, she had laid the belt over the folds. After a few test moves, she found the cloth to be as silent as her breeches.

And after she moved the knife to the outer side of thigh, she was ready to explore.

The only tricky part about her nighttime excursion was actually getting to the rooftops. After sneaking her way out of the barracks, she quickly moved to the shadows and began looking for a way to get above street level. She had to snake through alleyways and unlit paths. Finally, she found a shop that had a sloping roof with beams sticking out just low enough for Gwyn to jump up and grasp.

Her muscles protested swinging her body up. Gwyndolyn knew that she would have to work with her arms more so that the movement was easier, but that was a plan for another day. She just focused on walking on the beams as silently as possible. Which she found to be an easier feat than getting up. Her light footed approach to walking was perfectly combined with her soft leather boots.

Gwyn kept away from the side next to the street. Light cast off from torches would light up her pale skin and let anyone near know there was a person with them. Being on the side of the roof with the dark alleys gave Gwyn a good bird's eye view of their contents. Her eyes had adjusted smoothly to the lack of light and she could see nooks and cracks where she could fit arrows and knives wrapped in oilskins.

Once she grew bored with jumping from house to house and shop to shop, Gwyn decided to tempt fate. She made her way to the tavern. She could hear laughter and talking. It must not have been as late as she had anticipated. The voices sounded like those of the knights. Gwyn cautiously crept along the top of the gazebo of the barrel shelf. She slowed her breathing and took quiet, long pulls of air. And before she knew it, she was crouching over the top of the knights.

"-his hand again!" a voice said loudly. Gwyn laid her slight form on the straw of the roof.

"Stop telling the story, Bors." Kieran groaned before he took a drag from his mug. Gwyn smirked as she realized that the knights were teasing Kieran about her scolding him.

"That girl is just like her brother." that voice, Gwyn recognized, belonged to Phelan, "It is hard to read her expression. When she offered to kiss Kieran's hand better, her eyes didn't give way to her plan."

"She certainly fooled our Kieran!" Bors exclaimed in his rumbling voice.

"I think the real victim here is Galahad. She was defending his honor!" Gawain said in mock indignation. Gwyn rolled her eyes.

"She was not defending my honor!" Galahad retorted.

"You're right, young one! Just your manhood!" a roar of laughter responded to the jab.

"Alright you lot!" Gwyn heard Vanora call out, "You've had your fun. Now git to bed!"

Gwyn grinned to herself as she heard the knights grumble about bossy women. Never loud enough for Vanora to hear as she would tan their hides, but enough to vent their false frustration. They started to file out after wishing the fiery red head a pleasant night. Gwyn rose from her position and caught sight of the straggler of the group. She watched as the curly haired knight rounded the corner. Feeling confident enough, Gwyn crept along the top of the gazebo.

"So, taken to sneaking around, have you?" a soft rumble came from below. Instead of pretending not to be there, Gwyn decided that she would just confess to being present.

Gwyn planted a hand on the top beam and swung her legs over. She landed on the hardened dirt street with a soft thud. Lancelot stared at her with amusement twinkling in his eyes.

"I wasn't sneaking around." Gwyn replied with an upturn of her nose, "I was merely exploring."

"Come on, you rascal." Lancelot decided not to play around with the semantics that night. He gestured for Gwyndolyn to walk ahead of him.

"How did you know I was there?" the girl asked curiously. Lancelot chuckled.

"I was beginning to turn around when you rose as we were leaving." he explained. His voice was not teasing or mocking. Lancelot sounded like he was trying to help Gwyn with her stealth.

"Ah, bugger." she murmured, "Next time I will only raise my head and check if the area is clear."

"Not that I am helping you with this. Nor am I condoning it." he said in his most stern voice.

"Condoning what?" Gwyn asked slyly as she quietly opened the door to Tristan's room, "Good night, Lancelot." Lancelot smirked.

"Good night, Gwyn."


	11. Tempers Clashing

**_A/N: So sorry! I am finding that my brain wants to do my stories in chunks. I've been writing two or three chapters at a time, except for this one. This one has been stubborn about the clear image it wants to portray. So, I am hoping that finally getting something down will help._**

 ** _Thank you for the support!_**

 ** _Happy reading!_**

 ** _Henny, that lucky Penny!_**

* * *

 **Tempers Clashing**

Gwyndolyn had just finished with her day in the tavern and she was exhausted. The past couple of nights had been occupied with sneaking around the fort and plotting stashes. Gwyn decided that tonight she would stay in Tristan's room and maybe continue scouting the area tomorrow night. She was just too tired this night.

After changing into Tristan's tunic, Gwyn blew out the last candle and huddled under the covers.

Some odd hours later, Gwyndolyn rolled over and had the feeling that she should be awake. Her features scrunched into a grimace as her mind cleared the fog of sleep from her mind. As her ears sharpened, she heard the distinct sounds of someone rustling quietly in the room. And before she could call out, a hand clasped over her mouth and another pressed her shoulder down.

Instincts kicked in and Gwyndolyn started to find any open body part and began waylaying her fists into hardened muscles. Grunts of pain fell over her ears when her boney knuckles found softer flesh. The blankets were wrapped around her feet, so Gwyn couldn't kick at her opponent. That just made her push her fists up harder and faster.

"Gwyndolyn!" a familiar voice growled into her ear.

When she registered that it was her brother's voice, Gwyn stilled her frantic movements. Breathing hard through her nose, Gwyn relaxed against Tristan's palms and waited to be released. Gwyn felt her heart start to slow its hysterical beating. The fear that had turned her blood cold started to warm. And then she felt Tristan's hands leave her body.

Right before their door opened with a bang.

"Where is he?!" Galahad shouted. With the light from the torch in the hallway, Gwyn saw Gawain's strawberry blonde head standing behind the chocolate curly haired younger knight.

"Wait!" Gwyndolyn hissed, "It's Tristan!"

"What?" Gawain, who couldn't see into the room as well as Galahad, pushed his way past the younger knight, "Ah, well, then why did we hear fighting?"

"I thought he was an intruder and I was about to call out and attack, but Tristan covered my mouth and didn't identify himself until I landed a few strikes on his chest." Gwyn replied as she detangled her legs to cover her thinly vieled body.

"Of course you attacked. Why wouldn't the sister of Tristan be any different than our scout?" Galahad murmured.

"Good night, gentlemen." Gwyn said loudly to gather their attention, "Thank you for coming to preserve my honor."

"Good night, Gwyndolyn." Galahad and Gawain muttered as they backed out the room and closed the door.

The young girl crawled out from under the blankets and padded around the cool room. Tristan followed her movements through hearing. He heard her mumbling to herself and feeling around the dark room. The moon was low this night, so there was virtually no light coming from outside. And since the other two knights had closed the door, the light from the hall wasn't able to assist the poor girl on her quest.

And finally, Gwyndolyn lit a candle to face her brother. She beamed a white smile at him before flinging herself into his arms.

"Tris! You made it back!" her whisper was barely contained. Gwyn didn't want to wake up any more knights. But it was so hard when she was so happy.

"Expect me to die, did you?" he whispered into her hair as he embraced his sister back. Gwyn sighed into his shoulder.

"Of course not! But one never knows." she answered as she pulled away slowly, "How was it?"

"Informative." came the short reply as Tristan stipped his tunic.

"That sounds promising. Are you well?" Gwyn watched as her brother dampened a cloth with water from a pitcher that she had a habit of keeping on the round table. Tristan scrubbed his face of any dust.

"Nothing broken nor pierced." he replied after he had finished cleansing his face. Tristan began working on the backs of his hands.

"Good." Gwyn stated as she climbed back under the covers, "I still have a few hours yet before I am needed down at the tavern, will you hold me?"

Tristan paused his washing and looked down at his sister. Her eyes sparkled in the candle light and her cheeks were pink with glee. Her body language was calm though, but it was her expression that told her story. Tristan had always loved that about her. Her hands didn't fidget and her legs didn't twitch. But if you took the time to look at her eyes, you could always read what her emotion was. Gwyndolyn was a pretty girl, but when you looked at her eyes, you could see beauty.

"Of course, little Gwyn." he replied with an upturn to the corners of his lips. Tristan placed the cloth on the table, "And how did you fare while I was away?"

"Well. Your guard dogs did a terrible job. I knew they were watching over me the first night." she replied as she pulled the covers down, "Honestly, I thought you were too old to be threatening manhoods, quiet Tristan."

A soft chuckle met her ears as the dark knight's lean frame rolled onto the straw mattress. Gwyn threw the blankets over his form and settled her head on his shoulder. Tristan shifted to a more comfortable position and felt Gwyndolyn cuddle tightly to his side. He wrapped his arm around the back of her shoulders and grasped her bicep tightly. A sigh of content fell from Gwyn's lips as she settled against her brother's side. Tristan let out a slow breathe as his achy muscles relaxed from the warmth of his sister.

"Sleep well, little Gwyn." Tristan whispered to the ceiling, "I love you."

"I love you too, quiet Tristan." Gwyn mumbled as she was already half way asleep, "Sleep well."

* * *

"Gwyndolyn!" Gawain called from the table he was sharing with the other knights.

Gwyn had just finished at the tavern and she was contemplating taking a plate of roast to the barracks and eating there so she could turn in early. She had just exited the kitchen when the red haired knight had caught sight of her. She could see all of his brother in arms as well as her brother, eating and drinking. Knowing that she would have to answer questions from her brother that she was not ready to answer, Gwyn decided to go and dine with the knights.

"And how are you gentlemen tonight?" she asked politely as she placed herself between Tristan and Dagonet.

Gwyndolyn liked Dagonet. He was quiet and polite and never pried into her business. He was rarely loud and hardly ever got completely pissed. If he ever saw Gwyndolyn struggling with carrying dirty dishes from the tables, he would lend a hand and never complain about it. He always thanked Vanora for bringing out their meals and as well as Gwyndolyn for preparing the meals. If there was a knight that Gwyndolyn liked as much as her brother, it was Dagonet.

"Better now that your beautiful face is out of the kitchen." Lancelot replied cheekily, while one of the serving girls warmed his lap. Gwyndolyn sneered at the sight and ignored the philandering knight. Gwyn heard Tristan breathe a chuckle and turned a glare onto his features.

"He can't help himself, little Gwyn." Tristan murmured.

"So it would seem." she murmured back before pulling her lips into a sweet smile as Vanora set her plate of roast down on the table in front of her. Vanora winked and set about to attend the rest of her customers.

"Thank you for preparing the meal. You did a wonderful job." Dagonet whispered to the dark haired girl. Gwyn kissed his cheek and smirked.

"You just say that so I give you a little kiss." she whispered back. Tristan snorted.

"If I did that, your brother would be skinning my hide." Dagonet said with a knowing glance towards Tristan. The dark knight just stared at the burly young man. Gwyn sighed.

"Don't mind him, Dag." Gwyn smirked, "He just doesn't like to share. But he forgets I don't care what he does and doesn't like." Gwyn took a bite of carrot and chewed with the smirk still in place. Gwyn could see the anger build behind her brother's eyes.

"Dangerous waters, Gwyndolyn." he growled.

"I'm glad that I know how to swim." she replied before she put a piece of cut meat into her mouth.

"I think we might have a good ol' sibling brawl, if we let this continue on." a whisper came from Phelan. Gwyn flashed him a sinister smirk.

"Ever seen Tristan lose in a good fight?" she questioned. A few eyebrows raised as some eyed Tristan with interest.

"Obviously not. He still, isn't he?" Phelan answered as he glanced at Tristan.

"If we ever do come to blows, be prepared to witness the impossible." Gwyn said as she cut another piece of meat.

"Gwyn, you talk too much." Tristan said behind his cup. Gwyn knew it was water, but everyone else at the table believed it to be ale.

"Oh, brother dear..." Gwyn sing-songed and trailed off.

"Hurry and finish, foolish girl. It is your bed time." Tristan said with a snarl. The table erupted in loud laughter. Gwyn's cheeks flushed red.

"I would not eat in the morning. I might poison your food, brother dearest." Gwyn growled as she moved her plate in front of Galahad.

"Temper, temper, Gwyndolyn." Tristan tsked. Gwyn had had enough of her brother's over-bearing attitude.

"I am serious, Tristan. Don't come here and expect clean food." Gwyn threatened before turning on her heel and storming out of the tavern.

"Why did you make her leave?" Galahad inquired, watching the black haired knight. Tristan ignored the younger knight and instead, focused his attention on Lancelot.

"I told you to make sure she didn't find out about me asking you to watch her while I was away. How did you manage to muck that up?" he questioned the curly haired, flirtatious knight.

"I think you forget she is your sister." Lancelot answered as he released the serving girl from his arms, "She figured it out within minutes."

"Don't be so transparent the next time and she won't." the brooding knight commented before he drained his mug and left the tavern.

"Honestly! Those two act so alike, I would've guess they were twins!" Bors exclaimed before everyone continued with their meal, wondering what was going on with the brother and sister.


	12. Rivalry

_**A/N: Yes! I know! It has been a few weeks. I am sorry. I had a really bad case of writer's block and I also had to deal with changing my locale. But, I have had some smoked salmon and my mind is less mucky. I love fresh smoked salmon.**_

 _ **I hope you enjoy this chapter! I had a really fun time writing it.**_

 _ **Happy reading!**_

 _ **Henny, that lucky Penny!**_

* * *

 **Rivalry**

The time dragged on. Gwyndolyn blinked and soon found herself having lived at the fort for four full moons. But she loved being there. She and Vanora found a steady rhythm to their work. They never clashed and soon grew to thoroughly enjoy each other's company. Even becoming friendly. And Gwyn realized that she had made her first real friend here at Hadrian's Wall.

"Gwyn, I've noticed that you haven't taken any days off." Vanora commented one day when she had come in with the meat for dinner.

"I haven't found the need to." Gwyn replied as she took the huge beef chunk from the red haired woman.

"Well, why don't you get that stew all fixed up and then take the afternoon off." Vanora suggested. Gwyn swiveled her head around to stare at the mother of three.

"Oh, I couldn't! You have so much to do!" Gwyn worried. Vanora giggled at Gwyn's anxiety.

"Gwyn, you have given me so much free time, love." the older woman looked at her fondly, "It is the beginning of fall, go enjoy the fall colors. You deserve some time to yourself."

"Are you positive? Because I love being here with you. I don't mind staying and helping." Gwyn began preparing the stew.

"Yes, you silly girl!" Vanora laughed.

"Thank you, Vanora!" the young girl squealed.

"Now, finish that stew, missy!"

Gwyndolyn worked non-stop until the stew was in the fire, starting to heat. After a final hug from the gracious woman, Gwyn bounded out of the kitchen and into the fall air. She felt almost light without the knowledge that she would be working. She didn't mind the work, but having time to herself was most certainly grand.

The black haired girl raced to her brother's room to check if he were there. Gwyn was disappointed for only a moment before she figured that he was still in the practice area. So, without waiting to catch her breath, Gwyn ran out towards behind the weapons armory. Over the pounding of her footsteps, Gwyn could hear grunting and cheering. A small smile split her face.

Gwyn leant against the fence around the grappling ring. Inside were Bors and Athdar wrestling for dominance. Masculine grunts and skin smacking skin resounded over the cheering and the yelling from the other knights. Gwyn looked on with a small smile as she watched the male dominance in the grappling ring.

Until an object was thrown at her head.

Gwyn snapped her head around and found an apple on the ground behind her feet. The skin had been split open and apple juice was leaking from the cracks. Gwyndolyn felt along were the apple had struck her and pulled her fingers away damp and sticky. Her dark eyes flashed and started searching for the culprit. Until her eyes landed on an equally dark haired knight with equally dark eyes.

Tristan.

"What is wrong with you?" the young girl snarled. Her temper had reached its peak with her brother since the disagreement those months ago. While he had refrained from telling her it was her bedtime, he had kept that overbearing big brother act going.

Tristan was leaning against the armory wall and smirking. It was just like when they were younger. He would do something to annoy her and then just stand there, smirking like he wanted to be hit. So, Gwyndolyn would oblige her brother and they would end up with bloody noses or black eyes. They both had learned quickly that elbows were very useful in hand-to-hand combat.

When Gwyndolyn saw that aggravating smirk on his lips once again, she lost her senses. Red, like blood, entered her vision and her fingers started to tingle. With a wordless scream, she launched at Tristan. But her brother was ready. He pushed off the wall and was ready to catch her shoulder that she wanted to lodge into his gut. Gwyndolyn changed tactics and dropped to slide kick her brother's knees out. Tristan fell onto his hands and Gwyn rolled to get away from his dangerous feet.

Gwyndolyn felt her feet become bound together. A quick glance down showed that the hem of her skirt had tangled around her ankles. With a frustrated huff, Gwyn pulled the ties for her wrap skirt and it fluttered to the ground, exposing her calf length breeches as she found her footing. Once on her feet, she watched as Tristan watched her. He had already recovered from the kick she had gifted him. With deliberate movements, Gwyn kicked her leather skirt away so she wouldn't trip over it and then bent her knees.

"It was just an apple, little Gwyn." Tristan said in the silent yard. Those present were currently watching the siblings with baited breathe, "You always did hit harder when it was an apple."

"You always threw harder when it was an apple, quiet Tristan." Gwyndolyn replied before she began her attack again.

Gwyndolyn flew forward as if she were a coiled spring. For the first time since all the men had been brought here so many years ago, they witnessed Tristan caught unawares. Gwyn shouldered him in the gut and with a grunt, the two toppled to the dirt. Hands blocked hands and arms blocked elbows as the siblings tried to land body shots on each other. And when Tristan had enough of her concentrated attacks, Tristan shoved a foot under her belly and thrusted her into the air. Gwyn landed heavily on the earth with a groan.

"Do you think we should intervene?" Phelan whispered to Gawain as the pair of them watched Gwyn struggle to her feet, trying to fill her lungs with air again.

"I'm not sure I want to chance my luck with two angry Tristan's." Gawain answered. Tristan barked a laugh at his sister's struggles.

"Done with your temper tantrum, Gwyndolyn?" Tristan taunted as Gwyndolyn wheezed breathe back into her lungs.

"Is that all you have been reduced to brother, pretty words and blocked body shots?" her tone was airy as she tried to control her breathing. An amused smirk crossed the dark knight's features at his sister's biting words.

"Careful, Gwyndolyn." Tristan murmured. Gwyn ignored the warning as she took a deep pull of air and raced towards her brother to slam him with her shoulder.

Tristan gripped the front of her leather vest and tossed Gwyn towards the pin. Her feet tripped over themselves and Gwyn had to catch the wood fence to keep upright. Pounding footsteps were Gwyn's only warning before she was bodily thrown into the grappling pit. The sand absorbed most of the impact and Gwyn crawled backwards to gain her footing.

"Tristan! Enough!" Lancelot tried to reign in the merciless knight. Tristan knocked off the firm hand and hopped over the fence towards his sister.

"Had enough, Gwyn?" Tristan advanced towards the crouched girl as her chest heaved with labored breathing. Gwyn watched him closely as she gripped the sand. She was waiting for the right opportunity.

"Never." she growled in response as she let sand fly towards Tristan's eyes.

Momentarily disoriented, Tristan covered his face with his arm and Gwyn shouldered his ribcage and they were once again rolling on the ground, trying to achieve the upper hand. This time, blocking was a thing of the past as closed fists met soft tissue on each face. Soon, blood was leaking from nostrils and splits in lips. Gwyn decided to use sheer force to halt his attacks.

As Tristan pulled away after a vicious blow to Gwyn's eye, she grasped Tristan's wrist with her opposite hand and slammed it into the sand. Her other hand started to repeatedly strike Tristan's cheek.

"Gwyndolyn!" Tristan shouted. All of Gwyn's attacks stopped as she abruptly released Tristan and stood up. With blood stained knuckles and blood running in small rivers down her face, Gwyn towered over her brother and waited for him to issue the words of defeat, "All praise Gwyndolyn." he muttered through a swelling cheek and puffy lips.

"Good." she nodded her head and proceeded to exit the pin, "I'll clean your face up in the room." she threw over her shoulder as she approached her skirt.

"Oh, you will afford me that curtesy?" the sharp eyed scout grumbled as he rolled onto his feet.

"Of course. I'm the best out of the two of us to patch up bruises and cuts." Gwyn replied as she wrapped her skirt around her hips once more.

"I'll join you in a moment." Tristan stated as he wiped the trail of blood from his nose. Gwyn nodded her head again and began walking towards the barracks.

"Tris, was that all necessary?" Dagonet inquired softly as he came over to inspect the damage to the scout's features.

"It was very necessary. She desperately needed a good fight to wake up her senses." the scout shrugged the burly knight's hands away.

"Oh, so hitting a woman in the face wakes them from a comfortable life?" Lancelot's tone was stern. Tristan smirked.

"She is my sister, I grew up hitting her in the face." a glint entered the knight's eyes that were unfamiliar with the men. It was mischief.

"Go let her tend to your wounds. I am sure that all of this is some odd brother/sister bonding ritual." Gawain said.

Tristan left the practice area with a small smile hidden behind his hair. He finally had his entire sister back. The twinkle in her eyes as the blood lust ran through her veins was present again. Her slouched posture of defeat was now rigid with victory. Her skin was flushed with exertion and exhilaration.

His little Gwyn had her fight back in her.


	13. Alarms

**Alarms**

Tristan slammed open the door to his room and glared at his sister as she stood in the middle of the space. Gwyndolyn returned the glare and stuck her chin out defiantly. While pride swelled in his chest for his sister, his ego was wounded from the pounding she had inflicted on his face. Tristan didn't realize how strong she had grown to be. Well, he wouldn't make that mistake again.

"Let me see your lip." she ordered, her voice stern. Tristan did as he was told with a dark glower. Gwyn knew he would be angry when she started to repeatedly strike his face, but his over-bearing nature was pulling at her patience. She had braved the whole damn island for the Gods' sakes, "I'll clean it and then cool it with cold water."

Tristan nodded as he sat down and let his sister fuss over the wound. Gwyn cleaned the blood from his nose and his mouth. Her swift hands were gentle and soothing. Her touch was only feather light to avoid aggravating the clots. She knew that he had bled enough today at her hands. He had learned his lesson and would not be one to stoke her temper.

"You'll need a bath, little Gwyn." Tristan spoke for the first time to her since the pit. He could see the dried apple juice and bits of sand in her hair. If his lip didn't threaten to split open again, he would have smirked at her disheveled appearance.

"I've already told the lady to bring up water for a bath." Gwyn said as she dipped her cloth into the small basin of warm water. The clear water turned to rust color when the blood mixed with it. The wince was imperceptive, but Tristan caught it. Guilt was eating at her insides, Tristan could see that.

"You didn't hurt me grievously, Gwyndolyn." Tristan murmured as he stilled her busy hands, "I am more worried about your wellbeing, than my own." their native tongue flowed from his lips like silk.

"Did I do something wrong to make you angry?" Gwyn's voice was quiet and broken as the sweet language glided over her palate, "If you wish for me to leave, I will. I just needed to see with my own eyes that you were alive. Mother told herself you had died so she could get through the pain in her life. She tried to make me believe it, but I wouldn't."

"I would never tell you to leave." Tristan replied as he gently stroked her cheek, "You are so beautiful, my little Gwyn. I just want to protect you from the evils of this place." Tristan took the soaked cloth and wrung it out. He started to gently clean the blood from her pale face.

"I traveled the island all by my lonesome, brother." Gwyn replied with a knowing smile, "I may not have come out unscathed, but I did come out whole. Please know that I am more than capable of taking care of myself. If I find that I can't, I will seek you and ask for help. I promise."

And that is when Tristan knew that his sister would be all right. She resembled the young girl he watched shrink in the distance as he followed horses and younger boys. She wasn't as small, but she had the innocence of a young woman and the light of a young girl in her eyes. She knew how to hold her own, but still leant on her big brother for support. She was balanced and would only fall if she couldn't stay upright. But Tristan knew that he would be there to catch her and help her rise above the obstacle that blocked her path.

"Good." he whispered. Gwyn's dark eyes sparkled with happiness. Tristan placed the cloth into the basin and Gwyn's arms circled his neck as he rose to his feet. Tristan wrapped his arms around her back and held her close, never wanting to be away from her again.

"I love you, quiet Tristan." Gwyndolyn murmured into the collar of his tunic.

"I love you, little Gwyn." came the equally quiet reply.

* * *

A week passed and all those who had witnessed the brawl between the siblings stopped watching them with caution. While it was hard to see Tristan bleed, it was harder to see a petite girl get tossed around like flour sacks. It was even harder to watch knowing they were related and having a disagreement. But the brother and sister never showed any signs of resentment and they never spoke about the brawl. They went along their ways and continued to bond in less violent manners.

Dagonet was the first to notice that the two had grown to communicate without speaking. It often happened when Gwyn was helping Vanora serve out dinner on the busier hours. If Tristan sat down at a table, Gwyn would look at him and then they would converse, silently. Most times she would walk away and come back with his meal and mug. Other times she would walk away, shrugging her shoulders to another table to see if they needed anything else. Dagonet would observe and try to catch the subtle hints from the siblings, but he never looked hard enough.

Galahad noticed second, the unnatural way the two communicated with each other. He would stare in wonder as Gwyn would do as Tristan bade. But it wasn't as if she couldn't say no. She would just silently agree with him and food or drink would appear at his elbow. Galahad asked the girl one day how they could ask each other questions with no words and she just smirked smugly and shook her head. After most of the knights had witnessed the exchange from the younger man and woman, they left the matter alone.

Soon, they grew accustomed to seeing the mute passings. And before the knights knew it, they didn't notice them. Gwyn would bring them breakfast and then they would see her again at supper time. She would laugh and jest with them. They found her biting tongue entertaining and they enjoyed that she conversed more than Tristan, often answering for him. Tristan would sit next to her, mug in his hand and watched over the chatter with an amused glint in his dark eyes. The deep brown irises would roam, sighting anyone who would look at Gwyn twice.

But Gwyn never looked at anyone twice. She just went her business as usual and enjoyed the company of the Sarmatia knights.

Gwyndolyn had plucked up the courage to ask her brother to help her fashion a bow. Within two days after, Tristan produced a piece of whittled wood that was good and strong. Gwyn spun some tight twine and looped it around the ends. That night, Gwyn was out by the archery targets, pulling back on the string and loosing arrows. Her aim needed some work, but her muscles sang with joy at the familiar movement. The next day, Gwyn moved her hands slower, but her cheeks were red with glee. The knights found her again that night, practicing her archery.

Gwyndolyn couldn't remember a time she were happier.

Until things weren't.

It was almost time for Gwyn's day of birth. There were two pieces of knowledge that Tristan would recite before he drifted asleep at night. One was the path to his lands. He would envision the trees to the water and then the never ending grasslands. It helped him have a goal in his almost chaotic life. Even if he decided not to leave the island that was now familiar to him, he still had the long grass ingrained into him memory to calm his nerves. It soothed him before lifting his blade in the face of death and come out triumphant.

The second piece of knowledge was Gwyn's day of birth. He always sent a silent prayer to their Gods to wish her another year of life and happiness. He would imagine her big brown eyes peeking over the swaddle and her toothless grin that seemed to bring a funny warmness to his chest. Tristan never claimed to understand babies, but seeing a piece of his flesh and blood in the tiny body brought him great happiness and apprehension. He knew that one day boys would be vying for her attention and that thought always made the bright joy dim to dark rage.

Tristan had been planning on talking to Vanora to bake a honey cake without Gwyn's knowledge. It was the first birth day in nine years that he would have his little Gwyn, so he wanted it to be special. Because she was special. She was light in the dark and warmth in the cold. He wanted to show her, even if Gwyn already claimed to know. He wanted to show everyone. It was an uncharacteristic loud gesture from the normally quiet knight.

Then all the thinking turned to naught after a sound from the gates woke the knights early in the morning. It was the warning bell. While the Woads had been quiet during their harvesting and hunting months, it seemed there was a lull in their toiling and they decided it was best to use it to try and bring down the tall, wooden gates of the fort.

Gwyn had just woken to begin her day. Tristan woke at the sound of the first bell, drawing the knife from under his pillow. Gwyndolyn looked to him with wide eyes. Sparing her only one glance, Tristan rolled from his bed and started to lace his boots on. Gwyn stopped her morning routine to stare at her brother as he gathered himself quickly to defend the wall.

"Tris..." Gwyn couldn't think of the appropriate words. This was the first time she had seen him grab his thicker leather armor.

"Go to Vanora's. Go to her rooms and lock both of you and Bors' children in a bedroom." Tristan ordered sharply. He grabbed a dagger from his belt and tossed it to her, scabbard and all, "Take this. They will not breach the perimeter, but if the impossible happens, you will be armed." he fastened his belt over his hips. Gwyn tied the dagger to her own belt and fastened the ends. She was only in her breeches and leather vest. If she were to be running around, her long skirt would just be a hindrance.

"Quiet Tristan, please come back to me." Gwyn murmured as Tristan looked over himself to mentally check off his stock of weapons. He looked up from his task and saw genuine fear of his death in her dark eyes.

"I promise, little Gwyndolyn." he murmured as he touched her hair gently. He placed a hard kiss to her forehead to seal the oath. Gwyn leant into the action before he pulled away quickly and was gone from the room.

Her heart beat quickened and Gwyn grasped her quiver and bow. She was no maiden in distress; she would be armed to the teeth. After slinging them onto her back, Gwyn dashed from the room and into the hallway. She could hear the clinking of metal on metal as the other knights and Romans ran through the passageways to reach their destination. Gwyn melded into the stream of strong bodies until a hard hand wrapped around her bicep and jerked her to the side.

"You will not be fight, young missy." Dagonet's deep baritone met Gwyn's ears. She tried to pull her arm out of the tight grip.

"I am not, you silly man!" Gwyndolyn hissed, "I am going to Vanora's to stay with her."

"Then why are you armed?"

"If the impossible happens; the blue people enter the city. Tristan would not let me out of his sight without my own weapons, don't you think?" Gwyn replied as the grip on her arm loosened, "I am to make certain that Vanora and the children are well protected."

"Then go away." Dag replied with a knowing smile, "Be safe, little one."

"Come back, please." she murmured. Dagonet only nodded his head and then he ran off to join the other warriors.


	14. Spilling Blood

_**A/N: This is the second part of the battle! Not so heavy on the violence. Saving that for later.**_

 _ **Enjoy!**_

 _ **Henny, that lucky Penny!**_

* * *

 **Spilling Blood**

The streets were filled with Roman soldiers as they made their way to the gates. Gwyn dodged armed centurions as she ran through the small town towards Vanora's tavern. The weight of the heavier blade on her belt was awkward, but she pushed on and kept her pace quick.

Until a thought crossed her mind.

Gwyndolyn changed her route from Vanora's rooms to her barrel shed. A quick leap on a table and then the triangle roof, Gwyn made her way to one of her closer hideaways. There she pulled a knife, much like the one that Tristan had given her when she first arrived, from an oiled cloth. Not bothering with unwrapping the weapon, she reached further into the crevice of the wall and extracted a small bundle of arrows. These she had lashed together herself from wood that Tristan had gathered for her from one of his scouting.

With herself feeling a lot sturdier, Gwyn ran back on the rooftops towards the tavern. She could hear the knights and Romans yelling orders to everyone. They were making ready to go to battle for their wall. Gwyn stared ahead on her path, but sent a silent prayer to the Gods above to watch her brother and his brother in arms so that they may breathe come dawn the next day.

Not bothering with jumping to a table, Gwyn jumped from the roof of the barrel shed and tucked her body for a roll to absorb the shock. She came up swiftly and ran for the kitchen. Thundering up the stairs, Gwyn placed the weapons she collected on a table of the living space above the kitchen. Minding that children were asleep, Gwyn slowed her pace and went to find Vanora.

Gwyndolyn found Vanora in a bedroom in the back; one child cradled in her arms and her other two young ones hidden behind her skirts. Gwyn blew out a breathe she didn't know she was holding. Some tension that had leaked into her neck loosened. Gilly's eyes widened with recognition as he realized that it was only Miss Gwyn. But she was not dressed as she usually was.

"Miss Gween?" little Gilly called out. Vanora smoothed his hair down while Gwyn flashed him a bright smile.

"Yes Gilly, it is me." she replied. Gwyn focused on Vanora, "I left some more weapons on the table in the dining room. I'm just going to get them and be right back." after Vanora's silent nod, Gwyn left the room.

Gwyn sprinted through the living space, her pace quick. It was almost too fast because she barely heard the scuffling in the street. She peeked out the window and saw a man with blue paint over a bare torso. The sight left Gwyn breathless. In her travels, Gwyn hadn't seen any Woads. They stuck to the trees and Gwyn kept to the long grass. After she lost her horse, she would sleep high in the trees, undisturbed. It kept the Romans away.

The blue man was attacking a villager who had wandered from the safety of his home. Gwyn balked at the sight of the young man defending himself. She looked towards the back of the house and then out the window again. He had no weapons and was relying on pure muscle to keep the crude blade the Woad was wielding from striking him. Then Gwyn had a thought.

How did this blue man get in?

Without thinking further on the matter, she grasped her weapons and unrolled them as she crept from the window and quietly quick stepped it to Vanora's room. Her mind was racing with a plan. A plan that would ensure the woman and her children's safety.

"Vanora, they've breeched the perimeter. I don't know how. May hap they found a weakness in the wall, but they are in the streets." Gwyn whispered quickly. Gilly pushed his sister behind him and looked at Gwyn with frightened eyes, "There is a man being attacked at present. I am going to help him." she pulled out the knife that she always had strapped to her thigh, "Take this. Do not open that door for anyone unless they identify themselves. Gilly, you will protect your brother and sister. Vanora, if anyone opens this door without your explicit permission, stand to the side and stab the back of their neck. And if you need any motivation to kill a man, remember your children are in here."

"I will." Vanora's eyes were hard.

"Brace the door with anything. Don't make it easy for them." and Gwyn rushed from the room, keeping her feet light.

Gwyn crept from the tavern. She could still hear the men struggling against each other. When she peered around the corner, she could see the villager was tiring. His face was strained and the Woad had a crazed glint in his eye. Gwyn drew the dagger slowly and targeted the man's spine. With his bare torso, the bones of the spine stuck out nicely. With measured steps, she stalked to the men unnoticed.

With a swift arc, Gwyn buried her dagger between two vertebrae and the Woads movements stilled. The villager rolled the dead man off of himself and stood. Gwyn walked over to the back of the blue man and pulled her blade from the dead body. With a glare, Gwyn turned her attention to the unarmed man.

"Are you stupid? Don't be walking the streets when the alarm sounds unless you are armed! Get to your house!" Gwyn ordered with a wave of her dagger.

The villager didn't question the Sarmatia girl. He scrambled to his feet and sprinted off to his home. Gwyn took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Her heart stopped pounding and her hands steadied. With her body calm, she listened. The only disturbance she heard was faint shouting from the battle at the front. But Gwyn knew better. If there was one rat in the streets, there were a hundred more.

Gwyn was torn. She knew that Tristan would be furious if she didn't stay with Vanora, but she had protected her. She told her what to do. She needed to let those who were better equipped to deal with the infestation. Gwyn stood, listening intently for any sound. It scared her that she couldn't hear them. But maybe that meant that there was only one?

With her mind set, Gwyndolyn cleaned her blade off on the only piece of leather that the dead Woad was wearing before sheathing it. She took one sweeping glance before heading back to the tavern. Her steps were quiet and slow. She wanted to take in the whole scene before finally locking herself in the building for the rest of the fight.

* * *

Gwyndolyn stayed awake while Vanora tended her children and then finally nodded off. The dark haired girl had set a wooden chair in the middle of the room, facing the door that was blocked with a bed frame. It was too light to keep anyone out, but a loud alarm in the off chance that Gwyn accidently fell asleep. A dagger was laid across her thighs and she leant back. Her dark eyes never wavered and her body was still. If you didn't look carefully, she looked relaxed. But the tightness around her eyes and rigid posture of her neck told you she was wound tightly like a spring.

Gwyn didn't think about the man she had killed. She didn't see his face when she blinked. She didn't even hear the tone of his voice when she listened for noises in the hall. Traveling alone had made her merciless. She justified her actions as it was either her or her opponent who was to die. And Gwyn had found her brother and wanted nothing more than to watch him grow old and to watch his children turn into great warriors like Tristan. What spurred Gwyndolyn on now was seeing the frightened look in the villager's eyes as he thought he was going to die. That kept her thoughts from straying to the darker side.

A thud from downstairs brought Gwyn to an upright position. She could hear muted voices that slurred together. They were indistinguishable. Gwyn gripped the handle of the dagger and stood slowly. She waited with bated breath as she could hear footsteps getting closer. While Gwyn was sure it was the knights, she couldn't be too sure because of the lone Woad she killed, still laying in the streets.

Someone jiggled the door handle and Gwyn looked to Vanora. She was sitting up, facing towards the girl with black tresses. Her dark blue eyes were wary and Gwyn held a finger to her lips, signaling the woman to stay quiet. A grunt came from the door and Gwyn realized someone was pushing on the wood. Gwyndolyn dropped into a fighting stance. With a loud grunt, the door pushed the bed frame over and a blade peeked through. Gwyn knew that blade. She grew up watching that blade swing in the grass fields as her father taught her brother to swing a sword.

"Tristan!" Gwyn called. The blade was replaced with the dark hair of her brother, "Tristan!"

"Gwyndolyn! Move the bed." the order was soft. Gwyn sheathed her weapon and pulled the obstruction.

"Is Bors there?" Vanora asked as she detangled herself from her children.

"He is downstairs." Tristan answered as he stepped into the room. His sword was sheathed, so Gwyn jumped into his embrace.

"I'll go see him. Try not to wake the children." and Vanora left to look over her lover for wounds.

"Little Gwyn, are you all right? Were you safe?" the older brother fussed over his sister, "There was a Woad lying in the street and we worried that he had tried to come in."

"The children are fine. Vanora is well and I am well." Gwyn answered as Tristan began to run a hand down her hair, "I was just coming up when I saw a blue person attacking an unarmed villager. I went out and killed him. After making sure there was no one else, I came in here and have guarded the door since. Are you hurt?"

"No. We were very lucky this time. They weren't great in numbers." Tristan kept an arm around her shoulders as he steered her out of the room, "Why were you running around the streets? I told you to stay with Vanora and not to leave!" the anger was subtle, but it was there.

"I couldn't let that man die. I had to help. I know how to help." Gwyn retorted as she clung to her brother's side. Tristan sighed.

"Very well, little Gwyn." he kissed the side of her head, "I'm glad to see you alive, my sister."

"I am glad to see you alive, my brother." Gwyn replied as she smiled.


	15. Bruises

_**A/N: Yes, you can say it; Henria is a bitch! I say it to myself all the time too. So, don't worry about hurting my feelings. I am probably already crying because I yelled at myself.**_

 _ **What happened? Henria's life got fairly complicated and overly stressing. I was fishing 15 hours a day and trying to find childcare for my two little uns. It was horrible. Then, I had nothing! Nothing would literally come to my mind. I kind of blame my son going to school. He started kindergarten two weeks ago and I was so very stressed from that. I was very new at this whole, beginning of the school year thing.**_

 _ **Now that I am not as stressed and worried, I have found that words are coming to me. I have little plots going on in my head. I feel refreshed to be honest. So, I am hoping this feeling doesn't leave me because when I don't write, I feel really heavy and unbalanced.**_

 _ **So, I hope you enjoy some Tristan love. :D**_

 _ **Happy reading!**_

 _ **Henny, that lucky Penny!**_

* * *

 **Bruises**

After securing the tavern for Vanora and Bors, Tristan led his sister to their shared quarters. Gwyndolyn had gathered her extra weapons and had noted Tristan staring at them with disguised interest. Lancelot and Galahad were also in tow as the siblings made their way through the quiet streets. The knights all looked exhausted as the blood thirst had left them. Their faces were pale and tight. Except for Tristan. He was relaxed and looked refreshed.

When they arrived at the barracks, the other knights bid them good bye and Gwyn could feel the pressure of Tristan's stare. It made her want to wiggle in something close to guilt. She knew that her brother was trying to piece together how she had extra weapons, weapons he had never seen in his room, to defend herself and Bors' family. The uncomfortable questions were going to come and Gwyn didn't feel ready to answer them quite yet.

The dark knight followed his sister into their room and closed the door quietly. He watched Gwyn put the extra arrows and the unfamiliar dagger on the little table before she stripped off her bow and quiver. He was silent as she unarmed herself.

"Where did you get those?" the piercing black eyes didn't waver from her form as Gwyn went about setting out her night clothes again.

"I bought the dagger and I made the arrows." the answer was nonchalant and almost airy as the small girl avoided looking at her brother while she padded around the room, keeping her hands busy so he wouldn't notice them shaking. But Tristan always noticed when she was nervous.

"That doesn't answer my question, Gwyndolyn." a hardness entered Tristan's tone as he finally moved away from the door to start shedding his own lethal weapons. He reminded himself that he would have to thoroughly wash his armor in the morning.

Gwyn sighed quietly as she stilled her anxious movements. To keep her wits about herself, she swallowed dryly and turned to face her brother's anger full on. This is why she hadn't told him about her rooftop activities. He would be angry.

"I began exploring the rooftops of the town. There are secret stashes that I have been putting weapons and coins into. I figure that if the city were to ever be taken, I would have a means to escape." her voice quiet and her body withdrawn, "I had not told you because I knew you would be angry. I kept them secret because I don't need a lecture about preparing for a battle that will not come. I didn't want you to worry that at times, I don't feel safe behind these walls."

"My little Gwyn, you'll make yourself sick with all that clouding your mind." Tristan said as he sat on the lone chair to unlace his boots, "You fret for naught. Mayhap I have been dealing with you poorly. I would never disapprove of arming yourself. You make quite the vision all armored and battle ready. Fearsome is what the Romans would call you." he placed his boots neatly along the wall by the head of their bed. An upturn of his lips softened his eyes as he glanced at his sister, "I am proud of you. You did well with no formal training."

Gwyndolyn became confused. Tristan approved of her secrecy? That was not the reaction she was expecting. She knew that he fancied her ability to protect herself. She knew that her blood thirst was appealing because he had the same hunger for battle. But for him to openly admit that he approved of her nightly activities was a surprise. For him to show her something akin to pride over her proclivity was almost a relief though.

"I might show you them one day. But then you might not approve if you saw what deadly wonders I keep in cracks and crevices." Gwyn smirked as she grasped the comb on top of Tristan's vanity. Her hair was tangled from the long hours and she could feel her locks were heavy with cold sweat from worry. But she dutifully combed her hair to have some kind of order around herself.

"Who knows, I might start taking you to the pit and help you learn the sword." the response was cool and the tone held the smirk that was playing across his lips.

"Turn around so I can change my clothes and prepare for bed, Tristan." she said as she finished smoothing her long hair. A small amused sound came from her brother, but he turned around to give his sister privacy.

"Vanora gave you the day off, correct?" Tristan asked quietly over the sounds on cloth rustling. A positive sound came from Gwyn as she unlaced her leather breeches, "At dawn, we will go to the pit and I will start instructing you with a sword. You have already improved well with the bow and as evidence from the night, you can handle a dagger. My own flesh and blood will not be embarrassing with a sword. You will learn to handle steel."

"Yes, quiet Tristan." Gwyn replied as she crawled over to her side of the bed.

"Now, go to sleep. You look like shite."

"Speak for yourself, brother." the indignant grumble was sleepy and halfhearted, but it made the knight smile slightly, all the same.

* * *

Crack!

"Damn it!" a hiss of pain was punctuated with the explicative. A bark of laughter rang over the still morning as sounds of pain came from the small girl in the pit with wood chips. A dark look shadowed her face and made her look dangerous. The dark haired young man laughed away her anger and ignored the danger he was so obviously caged with.

Training with Tristan was like walking to the whipping post willingly. Gwyndolyn didn't realize that training to Tristan was repeatedly hitting the inexperienced until it sunk into their head that you needed to raise the wooden stick in a certain direction to block the onslaught, only for the instructor to switch directions and hit you from a different angle. Gwyn could already feel the bruises blossoming along her fair skin. Her fingers were already changing to a gruesome shade of dark purple from being pinched so many times between the two wooden swords.

"Block it, Gwyndolyn." Tristan mocked as amusement danced in his dark eyes. His beaten sister growled under her breathe and dropped into the defensive stance that he had so graciously showed her at the beginning of their lesson.

"Keep your filthy mouth shut, you bastard." the rage that was bubbling under her bruised skin leaked into her voice. Tristan let out another bark of laughter. Riling his little sister up was most enjoyable and highly entertaining.

"Such language for a lady." a mocking lilt came from the barrier. Tristan smirked as Gwyn licked her lips in frustration.

"Tris..." the short young woman snarled, her face twisting into a severe grimace that marred her petite features.

"Oh, come off it, Gwyn. This is how I learned and I am quite skilled if I may say so." the dark knight swept his hands down his front to show off his form. Gwyn rolled her eyes and huffed impatiently, "Come for a show, Gawain?" Tristan called out before he swung his wooden sword to the right of Gwyndolyn. Her block came up quickly, so Tristan dropped his shoulder and instead, landed the hardened edge of the practice sword on the side of her knee, causing the young woman to buckle and fall down.

"I came looking for you, actually." Gawain winced as Gwyn rubbed the fresh bruise to quell the stinging. Tristan raised a questioning eyebrow, "Arthur may have a mission for you. Some scouting that needs to be done." the burly knight shrugged his shoulders with naught a care. And then a small, mischievous spread his lips slowly.

"Tristan, help me stand so I can twist out this crick." Gwyn said from the ground. The older brother slowly glanced down to his ailing sister.

"No, you can pick yourself up. I did not hit you hard." Tristan struggled with the urge to hold his sister close as she worked through the pain. The flash of rage in her eyes did not help.

"What?" the disbelief was tangled tightly with anger. Gwyndolyn had never known her brother to be so cold to her. The pain in her injured joint ebbed away as her wrath grew in her blood.

"I have to attend to Arthur's needs. You can pick yourself up from the ground." Tristan replied to her outrage emotionlessly. With a quick flick of his eyes to the right, he tossed the wooden weapon towards the gear shed. A final look at Gwyn, and Tristan was hopping over the pin's fence and stalking across the grounds. Gwyn watched him leave her on the wood chips with ire in her eyes.

"Don't be foolish, Gwyn. Stand up and dust yourself off. We all learned to do it by ourselves." Gawain said as he climbed over the logs with ease. Gwyn turned her hardened gaze to the strawberry blonde knight.

"I will sit here and pout like a child, if I want to." the black haired girl replied while crossing her arms over her chest petulantly. Gawain raised an eyebrow in her direction.

"Come; show me what you have learned." Gawain ordered as he bent to pick up the discarded weapon. The sword was not his strongest skill, but he could handle the weapon same as his brothers.

"I am sore and marked already. Why would I subject myself to such tortures?" Gwyn asked as she gingerly hefted herself from the ground. All of her bruises screamed in protest and Gwyn fought a losing battle to keep the pain from her face.

"That is no fun, Gwyndolyn." the burly knight replied in jest.

"Fine." Gwyn rose to the bait. She already hated herself after the first lesson with Tristan, why stop with the self-loathing now?

They both brought the play swords up in a defensive posture. Gwyn found herself biting the inside of her cheek to stop thinking of the pain of her muscles from sitting on the ground for so long. Gawain adjusted his grip subtly, trying to get his muscles to remember the feel of a sword versus the feel of an axe. It had been several months since he had even thought about swinging a sword. The axe was much more suited for his strength and fighting style.

Gwyn studied the lighter haired knight as he worked his muscles to remember the movements of the sword. She could see his body rebelling against the thought of swinging the lighter weapon. The stiffer grip on the wooden practice weapon told her that side attacks would be met with little resistance to his flesh. His unsure hands would make for slower movements which would make for better blocking. This fight might be a great deal less painful.

Without provocation, Gawain came at Gwyndolyn quickly and swinging widely. Gwyn's eyes widened slightly at the sudden attack. Her irises followed the arc of the implement. With her muscles cursing her in seven different languages, Gwyn went for the block. The force of the blow knocked both practice weapons back into Gwyn and her tiny frame went flying to the ground. Her back hit the wood chips and forced a grunt of air to tear from her throat.

"Fuck all!" the hiss was low and breathless. A throb was beating behind her cheek. Gwyndolyn took slow deep breathes to refill her lungs as they cried for oxygen.

"That was unexpected. Who taught you such language?" Gawain asked unexpectedly as he crouched next to the gasping girl.

"Bors." the answer was more of a cough than actual words. The knight became sympathetic with the poor beaten lass. He took the wooden stick from her loose grasp and rose to put them away.

Gawain returned to see Gwyn still on the ground, sitting crossed legged. A dark bruise was swelling under her fair skin on her cheek. A twinge of guilt had the corner of his eye twitching with the emotion. He quickly pushed it out of his mind knowing that this was the way to learn. It was a foreign sight, though, to see the same wounds they suffered much younger than the girl on her fair, unblemished skin. The only thing that made the sight better was her breathing was normal.

"Come on. I'll walk you to the rooms and you can take a bath. It will help with the soreness, but do nothing for the fresh bruises." Gawain offered his hand to help Gwyn. She eyed it, but slowly rose to her own feet, pain pinching her features.

"I'll walk myself, thank you. I am perfectly capable of doing so. I only look defeated, but I assure, I can still kill you were you stand, knight." Gwyn openly threatened. Gawain smirked and bowed his head, letting Gwyn know that he was respecting her space.

"See you on the morrow, Miss." the burly knight languidly hopped over the log barrier.


	16. Waterfall

**Waterfall**

Gwyndolyn didn't leave the pit right away. Her anger was too pronounced and too raw for her to hold any sort of polite conversation. The bright September sun did not help. It only helped the fresh blemishes to pound mercilessly. Her body felt like it was on fire and she could find no relief. Her cheek felt like it was three sizes too big for her small features. Her own skin was uncomfortable.

With resolve etched into her irises, Gwyn limped over to the log barrier and forced her aching body to climb over. She had to clench her jaw to keep from crying out, but a new sense of pride washed over her as she landed on the other side against packed dirt. While her dismount was less than graceful, Gwyn smirked triumphantly. Accomplishing the small things was her only savior.

The first place that Gwyndolyn stopped at was her shared quarters. She knew she would need a cloth for drying and a change of clothing. The only change of clothing that she possessed was the dress from the first day she had arrived. So, with a curl of distaste by her lip, Gwyn packed the dress and the extra cloth into a leather bag. Her bow was strapped across her back with a bundle of arrows in a quiver. Her trusty knife was wrapped around her thigh and Gwyn left the barracks.

Exiting the sleeping quarters, Gwyn headed for the stables. She had a very specific plan in mind and it involved her brother's horse. While the two didn't have a close bond, Gwyn knew the horse could smell the familiar blood pumping through her veins. The only thing that stopped the horse from trampling her to death was her familial bond with her brother. She always kept that in mind when approaching the paddock that housed the wild beast.

Today was no different. Gwyndolyn knew she reeked of fresh blood, even if it was still under her skin. The pools of blood that darkened her skin were close enough that the warhorse could smell the metallic liquid. He snorted loudly and threw his hair around his neck.

"Relax, Irbis." Gwyn soothed the wild beast in their native language. Irbis always responded better in Sarmatia than Roman. It was a small comfort for the Sarmatia girl, but a comfort she loved.

With a gentle swipe down the animal's nose, a kiss to the velvety soft fur between his eyes, the horse nudged the girl in her chest in a sign of consent. Gwyn's features softened into a content smile and with a final kiss, she began saddling up the powerful beast. Irbis waited patiently as the tiny girl flitted around his stall. Her gentle hands agreed with him strongly. While his master was always careful, he never ran his hand over his hair slowly and tenderly to verify that his quilt was sitting properly or the saddle wasn't digging into his hide. Irbis loved his master, but he respected the girl that smelt of his silent rider.

"Come, sweet thing." the cadence of the girl's voice was like silk and it drifted through the sensitive ears of the horse nicely. Yes, he would follow her if he had to.

Gwyndolyn led the powerful Irbis out of the stables. She glanced around and caught sight of her brother. Her gaze hardened slightly and Tristan smirked, but nodded his head in approval. If she wanted to take his horse out for the afternoon, he would not stop her. Not that he could stop her, even if he wanted to. Well, he could just tell the gate guards not to let her pass, but he had no need for the beast that day and he knew that Gwyn was still rattled from the lesson he bestowed upon her.

The bruised girl mounted the saddle and clicked her tongue softly. Irbis snorted gently and began a canter towards the gates. Gwyndolyn kept her eyes moving. She was prepared for small children to jump out in front of her. The last thing she wanted to do was trample an innocent young one. So, to avoid such things, she looked to both sides, the reins gripped tightly between her fingers. Her sore muscles were clenched painfully, but Gwyndolyn kept herself taunt.

As they neared the gates, Phelan and Bradon stepped forward to block the gate from Gwyn. Recognition of both beast and rider glinted in their eyes, but hardened lips pursed in disapproval. Gwyn pulled the reins lightly and Irbis stopped before the knights. As a sign of respect, Gwyn slid down to the ground gracefully, or with more grace than she did at the pin. With a shallow bow of her head, the girl stood before the honey curled and chocolate brown haired young men.

"And just where do you think you are heading, Gwyndolyn?" Phelan asked the girl quietly but sternly. Gwyn brought her head up and met Phelan's gaze unflinchingly.

"What happened to your face?" Bradon interjected before Gwyn could answer. Her eyes snapped to his face to meet narrowed eyes.

"Tristan happened." she answered before her attention shifted to Phelan once again, "I remember a stream not deep in the woods. I was going to collect some berries before the frost claims them. Vanora was requesting some. Her youngest is cutting teeth now and berries are good for little ones. They are soft and easy to gum."

"We were just attacked, do you not remember that?" Phelan looked concerned.

"I am armed and atop one of the fastest warhorses on Briton. What makes you think that any blue person will surprise me? I am nothing to those people." Gwyn replied crossing her arms over her chest. She was tired of being treated as if she were weak and incompetent.

"Best not argue with her. Bullheaded like her brother, that one is." Bradon murmured quietly to his partner. Phelen stared at Gwyn for a hard moment before nodding his head.

"Open the gates. If she dies, she dies." Phelan called to the Roman centurions. The honey curled young man turned back to the ebony haired girl, "If you die, Tristan will not let me forget this."

"He knows I am leaving. Saw me nicking his horse from the stables." Gwyn shrugged her shoulders and winced at the action.

"Then fine. Go meet your doom, foolish girl." Phelan whispered before stepping away from Gwyn and letting her pass.

With a nod of appreciation, Gwyn hopped onto Irbis and settled into the saddle. She squeezed her thighs slightly and the great beast walked forward. As they passed through the gates, Gwyn began untying her hair from the braid. Once on the other side and without looking back, Gwyn placed the leather strip into the bag before she grasped the reins tightly. With a quick breath to set herself, she squeezed her thighs tighter and Irbis shot forward in a dead sprint.

The wind licked through her hair as the braid fell. The rush of the cool air felt like relief on her irritated flesh. Gwyn could hardly breathe from the force of the movement, but she had never felt so alive. Nualla was not a small beast herself, but they both were young and fairly green. Her beautiful cream colored horse was not as powerful as the beast between her legs now. But Gwyndolyn had grown up around powerful horses and she knew how to handle this one.

Before long, Gwyn spotted the clearing that was most familiar in her mind. She knew that the woods thinned out and made a semi trail near a creek. The small stream of water was fed by a waterfall that was more like a trickle. Before she had been taken by the two Roman's that brought her to Hadrian's wall, she had saw the barely waterfall and corresponding pond as she was sprinting away from the harsh language and loud thundering of their steeds. All Gwyn had to do was trot through the trees up the creek and she would find the place she wanted to bathe.

The only sounds that accompanied Gwyn were the soft stomping of her horse and the trickle of the water. The silence made her wary. No birds were to be heard of and small animals were in hiding. While it could be the result of the battle the day before, Gwyn suspected it was because the Woads were still in the trees, watching and waiting for the Romans and Sarmatians to come out and continue their dispute.

The pond was surrounded by large rocks. Moss and algae blanketed the rocks from the constant moisture. Gwyn pulled Irbis to a stop and hopped down. Her injured knee gave a little and she stumbled, but kept her footing. The petite girl started to unarm herself and placed her weapons at the edge of the small water pool. Her boots and leather trousers were next. She folded her breeches neatly and pulled her vest over her head. She could feel the once warm air cool her fiery skin. It caressed the blemishes and soothed them like a balm. Some of the tension in her shoulders eased at the comforting feeling.

Discarding her underclothes, Gwyn stood at the edge and took a deep breathe. The water would be cold due to the lateness in the year. Setting determination into her dark brown eyes, Gwyn placed her foot into the water and felt her skin prickle at the icy blast. Bracing herself, Gwyn brought her other foot into the water. With resolve in her chest, the pale girl went under the water, feeling the liquid soak into her hair and made her skin tighten. Her chest felt like it exploded, but the blood rushing to her bruises stilled.

Her joints and aches went numb. Her fingers grew stiff, but Gwyn could feel the swollen knuckles begin to shrink. She waded over to the trickle and let the water run through her locks. The sweat and little bits of earth flowed with the water and she scrubbed her scalp clean with her nails. Clean hair felt heavenly to the lithe girl of seventeen winters.

With her body clean and her hair dirt free, Gwyndolyn brought herself to the edge of the pond. Her cold fingers found a stone the size of her palm and she began to rub the cold rock in circles over a dark mark on her shoulder. She continued the action until the blemish had significantly faded. Her attention turned to a deep purple bruise on her knee. She pushed through the soreness that crept through the numbing cold of the water. And before she knew it, she was looking to the water for her reflection and her cold stone began to rub away the dark bruise on her cheek.

When she grew satisfied with the results, Gwyn placed the rock on her dirty clothing and pulled the cloth meant for drying from her bag. She ran the soft piece over her skin until all that was damp was her hair and feet. Wrapping the dampened cloth around her hair and twisting it up on her head, Gwyn pulled out the change of underclothes and she began dressing herself for her ride back. The flocculent material of the dress felt foreign against her skin. Not used to wearing anything other than thick cloaks and leather, the flimsy dress felt too revealing. But Gwyn ignored all that and laced up her boots.

Looking around, Gwyn found a few pieces of long, flat grass and began to weave a simple basket. She told Phelan that she was gathering berries for Vanora, after all. After her basket was finished, she padded around until she found some red berries that she knew helped with swollen wounds. She gathered enough for herself for a few days, knowing that if she were to continue being beaten by Tristan, she would need to consume a few before falling asleep at night.

When she had enough for a few days, Gwyndolyn searched for some that she knew would be sweet and plump for Vanora's little one. Feeling much more in control of her muscles and not like an over ripe fruit, Gwyn gathered her weapons, strapping the knife under the skirt of her dress and slinging her arrows and bow across her back, Gwyn mounted Irbis and led him from the forest. While she could feel the weight of an intense gaze, Gwyn ignored the buzzing between her shoulder blades and left the pond and waterfall. She knew that the Woads were watching and had probably just seen her as bare as the day she were born, but to seem inconspicuous she had to pretend like she didn't possess the knowledge to hear what was not there and see what could not be seen.

And when she came upon the gate, Gwyn pretended like she didn't catch the questioning gaze from Phelan at her change of attire. Because to pretend like you didn't notice such things, you didn't have to answer unwanted questions.


End file.
